Want Take Have
by jadesky1
Summary: Natasha isn't comfortable living alongside the now recovered Winter Soldier. She's compromised somehow. She decides to address the problem, but maybe choosing the compound kitchen at 2am wasn't the wisest of decisions. Includes Clint and Sam POVs (and Tony, Rhodey, Wanda and Laura, all of whom I annoyingly can't add as 'Characters'...)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: As always all these characters belong to Marvel and their delightful Disney overlords

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Nat draws to an abrupt halt at the end of the corridor that leads from the sleeping quarters to the communal kitchen area of the base. And her eyes instantly harden as they focus in on the well-muscled back and shoulders - one flesh, one metal - and the dark head of hair that are being softly illuminated by the light currently spilling out from the open fridge door.

It's gone 2.30am, she's just returned from a mission and she's starving. She's starving and exhausted and totally sick of feeling like this. The Avengers base is supposed to be her home, her way to balancing her ledger, and now she was more of an unwanted guest. Well, it wasn't that she was actually unwanted, more that she simply felt that way, and on edge, all of the time.

And it's all his fault.

Things were still admittedly a little strained with 'her boys' due to her role in the Civil War - as it was now being branded by the media - but they'd understood both her reasons and her actions, and everything would have settled back down to what passed as normal for them in due time, if it wasn't for him. She'd been taking every mission Fury could send her way in the six weeks since he'd been resident and that wasn't helping her mend any fences. Clint was sending her hurt looks, that was never good. It felt worse to her than getting shot, which - thanks to the man now standing between her and a decent sandwich - was something she had recent and repeated experience of.

His very existence was upending hers. Everyone was distracted and she can't relax. Only the fact that Steve seemed so blissfully happy to have his friend back had stopped her from doing something drastic.

It wasn't even as though she didn't have grounds to feel this way, just that she didn't have a reason that stood up to much scrutiny and she knew it. This isn't like her, any iteration of her. She can't even pin down her response to one particular emotion. She's a mess of fear, concern, hate, anger, jealousy, admiration, pity, envy and disdain. And not all of those were targeted at the recovering amnesiac she's silently watching.

He's also so fucking polite it drives her up the wall.

On Steve it's appropriate, on him she finds it infuriating.

She's barely spoken five words in his direction and yet he's always made an effort to greet her warmly when they've crossed paths. Even now she knows he knows that she's there watching him - how could he not, being who he is - and yet he's waiting on her to reveal her presence. She has to have been rooted to the spot for a good three minutes now and he's not moved a muscle.

For two world-class assassins this is bordering on the ridiculous.

She doesn't know who he is, she can't read him. And it makes her more than a little nervous. The Winter Soldier was a figure of legend to her, one he's more than lived up to on the two occasions they'd crossed paths. He wasn't supposed to be here stealing the last of her raisin bread and making her best friend laugh uncontrollably like she'd seen him do two days ago. She'd not caught the comment he'd made but it had both Clint and Sam in stitches. He's also moved-on from the homeless hobo look and the end result has been more than a little distracting.

This wasn't the ghost-like killer she'd hunted and respected. But it wasn't the charming and charismatic Sergeant that Steve had finally started opening up about at long last either. He spoke quietly, walked silently and his smile was a quick, barely noticeable quirk of the lips. She's seen the joy in Steve's eyes mingle with sadness every time that broad, confident, and captivating grin she's viewed in the museum footage fails to make it onto Barnes' face. She'd like to see it herself. Maybe then she'd feel like she'd met Bucky, not an imposter occupying his shadow.

Okay maybe she's a little bitter. She'd had to prove herself every step of the way year after year, all because no-one knew who she was. She's not sure if having people wait for you to become someone else is a better or worse situation. She thinks, that with a legacy of the likes of Bucky Barnes, she might actually have the better end of that deal, in spite of him having the benefit of the doubt never truly afforded to her.

"I guess if I can't make up my mind I should probably close this before an ice-cap melts or something."

It's spoken in a hushed tone - whether to respect the time of night or to avoid startling her she can't tell - and injected with an edge of wry humour.

"You wouldn't think picking between water and juice would be a stumper would you?"

That dark head bows forward slightly and a softly-glinting metal hand grasps the back of his neck in a gesture she knows is usually self-comforting, but can't help but wonder if it still is when it's cold metal in the place of warm flesh. She assumes it's cold anyway. She's not had the chance to discover otherwise. In their previous encounters her attention has been unsurprisingly focused on survival rather than temperature differentials.

A small self-deprecating laugh follows his words.

So that's what that sounds like.

She doesn't say anything. How he can be recovered enough after two years to even be this close to human is astonishing to her. At the same point she was still locked down tight.

He pauses for a beat, clearly waiting for her reaction to his breaking the illusion by speaking to her.

Natasha does nothing.

He releases an almost silent sigh and she watches those defined shoulders drop. Then he starts to turn, clearly telegraphing his movements, careful not to surprise her. He's always so careful around everyone, determined not to be threatening in any way, to make sure he doesn't scare them. He does scare her, but that's her problem, not his.

"Look, Natasha..." he's now facing towards her. Can he see her in the dark?

She can guess what's coming next, so she takes a step forward into the edge of the weak florescence provided by the still-open refrigerator and utters one word: "Stop."

He looks confused and it's borderline adorable. God she hates him right now.

His brow furrows and those ridiculous Cupid's bow lips of his fall into a slight pout, but in spite of his tentativeness around her it looks as if on this occasion he won't be put-off. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry for..."

"No." She cuts him off again. "Don't apologise."

That confusion is now mixed with mild irritation. She can see it flashing in his blue eyes. Good.

Oh.

She has a moment of clarity. She suddenly understands why she's harbouring all this anger towards this man who's suffered worse violations than Clint, probably feels more lost than his 'man out of time' best friend and has possibly been used and manipulated even more than she was by the Red Room. It was unexpected, but she deals with the revelation, accepts it and continues on without a flicker of it appearing on her face.

"Words are meaningless I don't want them. They aren't going to make me any less shot or scarred."

She sees a flash of hurt cross his expressive features, quickly followed by intense guilt. She's in mission-mode now however, and she isn't about to let that stop her from achieving her aim.

His hand comes up to his neck again. The flesh one this time, and his eyes leave hers and drop to the floor. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'll stay out of your way."

He turns to close the fridge and leave. Natasha takes that as her cue, and in a fluid motion launches herself over the kitchen island that has been standing as a barrier between the two of them during all this. She lands gracefully in front of him. He doesn't quite flinch, but she can tell he's preparing himself to take whatever punishment she wants to throw his way.

As much as it's not what she intended to do, when she sees this acceptance in his eyes she can't fight the urge to shove him. So she doesn't. Both hands strike firmly but not violently into his upper chest forcing him back against the kitchen cabinets.

"I already told you not to do that."

She sees it then. The struggle he still has against his conditioning. He clearly wants to ask why, and yet he's still fighting to get the words out. She feels a flash of admiration which quickly morphs back into anger when he stops battling the Hydra-implanted controls, simply shakes his head, and looks to move away again.

"Look it's late, maybe we can try and hash this out in the morning." He looks at the clock, "Later in the morning."

He meets her gaze but she refuses to respond, she's sure she doesn't even blink. He waits a moment to see if she'll reply, but then turns to head back to the room where he still spends most of his time. She lets him take just one step before she drops into a sweep that takes out both his legs. He is who he is, so he's already rolling when most people would have simply dropped.

And because she is who she is - and also apparently the only one of the two of them who knows what's happening here - she's already leapt and landed on the other side of him, a booted heel stopping his forward momentum and putting him flat on his back with a pained exhalation. Natasha has a rush of guilt for that, it was hard enough to have probably left a serious bruise on someone else.

He looks up at her with slight panic on his face. Is it caused by her actions or his fear of his own reaction she wonders.

"What do you want?" There, so he can ask questions.

"I want you to fight."

"I'm not going to fight you Natasha." He says it with so much pain in his usually smooth voice she can feel her own chest tightening in sympathy.

"Of course not. How could you when you're too busy fighting yourself. It's pathetic."

She means it to a certain degree, but she says it in a way void of any emotion - as though simply stating a fact.

He has an injured expression on his face. It doesn't suit him.

He thinks she hates him she can tell. She can't blame him, she kinda thought she did herself until about four minutes ago. Even someone as insightful as she is occasionally needs some time to catch up. He needs to know that that's not where this is coming from.

"You're so busy beating yourself up you couldn't focus long enough to fight off Wanda without her powers, never mind me."

Maybe that was a little harsh - Wanda has improved a lot in hand-to-hand since she started proper training.

But this is what Natasha does, she uncovers truths. She's discovered one of her own tonight and she's now determined to make him face his.

He tries to sit up once again but she's not going to let him. Her foot goes up, and the bottom of her boot plants firmly on his sternum applying enough pressure to push him back down. But only because he lets her. She knows he could throw her across the room with only a little effort if he wanted. She knows he won't and she's surprised at how quickly she's come to trust him.

Now if only he'd trust himself.

"You're The Winter Soldier, and more than that you're Bucky Barnes."

Some strands of his chin-length hair are on his face and she resists the urge to reach down and push them back behind his ear.

He shakes his head with a bitter laugh, displacing the stray locks and removing the temptation. "You don't even know who that is."

She raises an eyebrow at this "Really? I know that he's the man Steve Rogers looks up to. He's a hero to possibly the only man I look up to, the man America looks up to. And I think both he and the Winter Soldier would be fucking embarrassed by the state you've got yourself into. You're letting 'them' win, letting Hydra win."

He looks away, swallowing heavily, his jaw tensing and his face going blank. He's shutting down his reactions - he was trained well after all - and she's determined not to let him. Unless he deals with whatever is making him afraid of his own shadow he's going to be a liability, both to himself and the team.

He takes a firm but gentle hold of her ankle, pushing her leg back until she has to shift her balance and place her foot back on the ground in order to stay upright. In the weak light she can just see that's she's left a dirty mark on the once pristine expanse of his white t-shirt.

"You don't understand." His voice is almost as blank as his face. He makes another move to get up, so Natasha does the only logical thing. She quickly lowers herself down, straddling his waist with her legs whilst knocking out the supports of his two arms, landing him flat on his back once again.

With a nonchalance that she knows borders on the absurd considering their current position she simply says, "Explain it to me then."

He glares up at her. "Get off me."

She smirks at him glad to see some emotion return. "Not unless you make me James."

Suddenly he looks slightly amused. "Seriously, James? The first time you call me by name and that's what you go for?"

She smiles properly then. "Well I thought given our current situation, Barnes would have been a little overly formal."

His lips actually quirk upwards a fraction at that. "Not even my mother called me James."

"How would you know?" Despite her best efforts Natasha's voice has taken on a teasing tone. Needless to say her air of un-approachability is officially blown after tonight. Not that she minds too much now.

He looks wistful all of a sudden. "I remember."

She feels her smile soften. "I'm glad."

The moment of bonding lasts just that - a moment - before a look of annoyance is back on his face.

"Look I'm serious, get off me, I'm not safe to be around."

Natasha experiences another hot surge of anger at his words. "Well my team-mates, my friends, have put themselves on the line by saying that's not true. Are you planning on making liars out of them?"

Her words possibly had a little more bite than she intended. This was ridiculous, she was losing her equilibrium, she clearly couldn't have this discussion like this. Not with him. She needs to regain some distance, refocus and take a different tack.

"...I'm not doing this." He'd just said something and she's completely missed it in her preoccupation. She shifts to stand back up, just as he also moves to displace her, and they both go down in an embarrassing jumble of arms and legs.

The air is forced out of Natasha's lungs as she lands heavily on top of him. And that's precisely where she is, on top of him.

Opening her eyes she finds herself looking directly into the pale blue of his, watching as the bands of colour, already narrow around large dilated pupils due to the low light, become even less visible, and she feels his heart beat - thrumming strong and fast - through the contact where her breasts press firmly up against the hard muscle of his chest.

He's frozen, holding himself completely stationary, and she suddenly realises she's yet to replace the breath she'd lost. Her moment of revelation from earlier passes through her mind. Oh fuck it. She no longer cares if it's a bad idea. She leans down, closing the small distance remaining between the two of them and kisses those aggravating lips.

She wanted him, wants him. She's able to admit that to herself now. She hadn't planned on letting him know that however, but the best plans are those that allow for change.

But seconds pass and he still doesn't respond.

She draws back from the kiss, suddenly recalling with painful clarity exactly how hollow she'd felt when Banner left. Steeling herself, she looks down at his face and finds intense confusion painted there. She can't do this, she should have realised it by now. This wasn't something she got to have.

She leans away. Getting a hand on his chest she commences pushing herself back upright. "Sorry."

"Wait." He'd started sitting up and his rapid movement surprises her once again. She slips, loosing her purchase and sliding down his body until she comes to a stop with a gasp, straddling his lap. It's crystal clear now that he's been as affected by their collision as she has. She locks eyes with him again. His lips are slightly parted and he's breathing hard, refusing to move.

Natasha on the other hand can't help it. She angles her hips forward, shifting even closer towards him and increasing the contact. He closes his eyes and bites down on that enticing lower lip of his in response.

He's beautiful.

She's finally able to acknowledge that fact to herself. And that she's also now determinedly pushing him whilst he's trying to keep himself in check.

Someone is going to lose here and, despite her instance of insecurity just now, she's resolute that it's not going to be her. She rolls her hips and smiles at the moan this elicits from him, before giving voice to her own, as the friction and building heat between the two of them work their magic on her hyper-aware body.

"James." She utters his name like the question they both know it is, before rocking her hips against him again.

"It's Bucky," he says, eyes opening to lock onto hers with a gaze so intense it sends another shiver of pleasure running up and down her spine.

She smiles and brings her lips to his ear. "There's no way I'm calling you Bucky" she says to him in the quiet, husky tone of voice she knows from experience men love. He's about to reply again, but whatever he was about to say is cut off as she stops her teasing, grinding down on his now straining erection and biting gently on his earlobe. He groans against her neck making her shiver in response.

She's now certain he wants her as much as she wants him - and god she does, with an intensity that's almost frightening - but knowing how much autonomy he's had taken away from him for so long in his artificially-extended life, she wants to hear him say the words.

"James, tell me you want this." If he corrects her about the name again at this point though, she swears she'll make him pay.

His self-preservation instincts seem to have kicked in as his response is simply "Natasha, I want you."

"Well that's fortunate isn't it." She smiles into his warm skin as she places gentle kisses down his neck, her hips taking up a slow, unhurried rhythm that sends surges of building sensation straight to her core.

His hands are suddenly on her waist, which she's all for until she feels him restraining her movements and bringing their delicious dance to a standstill. She finds herself uttering an involuntary sound of protest so needy that she ends up rolling her own eyes in disgust, and she shakes off the haze of lust long enough to focus on making conversation. What can she say, it's been a while.

"What's wrong? I thought things were progressing nicely," she says with a half-smile. Although considering she was maybe minutes away from having sex with The Winter Soldier on the kitchen floor of Avengers HQ, when everyone was in residence and liable to walk in at any time for a glass of water or some such, maybe it had been going a little too nicely...

And he'd stopped them despite saying yes, so what's she missed? He had said yes hadn't he? The more-than-pleasant pressure she's all too aware of at the point their bodies touched was a big indication that he was both willing and able, so what had made him call a halt to proceedings?

He doesn't reply, so she thinks maybe he just needed a moment, and a second later she's started moving her hips again, chasing that sweetly-mounting rush of sensation that had just been cruelly snatched away from her. But again those hands are back, arresting her movement and now making her feel decidedly uneasy. He wasn't even looking at her. She raises her own hands to frame his face and gently turn it towards her.

"Hey are you with me?"

He met her eyes uncertainly, "I don't get it."

She frowns "Don't get what?" She can see that his breathing and heart rate are both elevated, and she would admire his control if it weren't so frustrating right now.

"Why you'd want this. You said..."

Oh yes she'd been in the middle of something before she'd become distracted by his, well, everything.

"That you were a hot mess who was likely to get the people he wants to protect killed if he continues like this? That?"

He shoots her an offended look "Yeah that." It comes out so Brooklyn she can't help the smile that breaks out on her face. She loves his voice she decides right then and there. The offended look intensifies. At least until she reaches down and gently squeezes him through the loose training pants he was clearly wearing for bed. He lets out a strangled groan and she decides she might love that sound even more. She's playing dirty she knows, but she's playing to win.

When his eyes open again she looks deeply into them. "And I stand by what I said. I didn't say you wouldn't have help to pick up the pieces and arrange them into a more stable new whole."

He doesn't react in any visible way for a moment. "Is that what this is? You helping?" She could take offence at that, but she knows the question has nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. She takes hold of his jaw with her right hand to keep him looking at her.

"No. This is me taking what I want" she replies with a wicked grin that even seems to break through the cloud that had descended on him. "But you need to try and forgive yourself first before anyone can help you. It will never matter how many people say they forgive you, or that it wasn't your fault -" she swallowed heavily "-believe me on this, unless you find a way to accept what you did, and what was done to you, it'll always just be meaningless words. You need to find that balance between Steve's Sergeant and Hydra's Soldier. You'll probably be neither one ever again," she saw him flinch as she said this, and reached up to run her other hand through his deep-brown hair "but I can't wait to meet the man who'll come out on the other side, because whilst the one in front of me right now is remarkable, that guy, he'll be unbeatable."

He looks stunned by her words. She could do speeches too it would appear, who knew?

She really wants to kiss him right now - they still haven't got around to that part of proceedings yet - but she can tell he still hadn't finished working through whatever was turning around in his mind. She clearly hasn't managed to short-circuit his brain with lust. Maybe she should just try a little harder? But no. She bites back a sigh. He needs to deal with whatever this was first.

It takes him a moment or two to gather his thoughts. "In the two and a bit years I remember most clearly I've almost killed Steve twice, I've hurt Stark, a man who's parents I've reportedly murdered, and I came a hair's-breadth away from killing Fury, someone I know you care about." He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "I've shot you - twice - Natasha, why would you want me anywhere near you?" He seems almost incredulous.

As delightful as she finds their current position, Natasha decides that at this point a little more space would benefit this conversation, and grudgingly moves away to perch further back on his strong thighs. At least she has the satisfaction of hearing him react to the loss of contact with a pained intensity equal to her own. Stamping down on her libido she attempts to concentrate on talking again.

"Firstly," she holds up a finger "Fury doesn't hold a grudge. In fact I think he's mostly impressed that you got to him and at the shots you made." He looks at her sceptically. She just shrugs "Yes, Nick's a little weird. Secondly, Stark was really asking for it. And I say that despite the fact I was nominally on his side at that point. He'll get over it." If he doesn't she might have to find some more Stark weapons tech orphans to 'bring to his attention'. "And thirdly Steve's fine and he still loves you. You seemingly have some endearing quality to which I'm clearly immune." She smiles cheekily at him, she's pretty sure she's been through her entire repertoire of them in the past 20 minutes (the clock isn't even showing 3 yet), but he doesn't seem anywhere near convinced. So she grabs the zip of her tactical suit and pulls - two birds one stone.

She slowly unfastens the uniform, and his eyes track the decent of her hand and the zipper as they make their journey from neck to navel.

She's only wearing underwear beneath, but the second he spots the bullet scars she feels him freeze and she's not going to let him do that again, not now.

She grabs his right hand and presses it against the marked flesh just above her hip. "Do you know what I feel when I think about this?" she asks him. "It's not bye-bye bikinis despite what I told Steve."

He quirks an eyebrow "Yeah, I'm sure you look awful in them now." Her mouth opens and shuts. "What?" he asks giving her a puzzled look.

"You and Steve really did grow up together didn't you?"

He looks even more confused. "Yeah for around 20 years give or take, but you knew that."

"Well there's knowing and then there's 'knowing' you know?" Clearly from his expression he doesn't, but it doesn't matter. She's not about to stop this conversation to tell him he and Steve had almost identical reactions to her remark.

"When I see this" she moves his hand to the much fainter but newer mark on her shoulder "or this, I think about how lucky I am to be here. Because I went against someone as good as, if not a little better, than me, my match, and I got to walk away. And I like to think that you saw the same thing in me and decided to just disable me rather than taking me out." She paused for effect. "Either that or you just botched the shot - twice." He snorted at that. She really shouldn't find that hot but she did.

"I'd never heard of The Winter Soldier leaving someone alive. No-one had. That's why no-one other than Clint really believed me when I returned from Odessa and told them what had happened."

"No, I don't think..." he trails off, seemingly becoming lost in a memory.

"Hey, It's okay." He appears to come back to the present at the sound of her voice. "I'm guessing leaving a live witness, and a SHIELD agent at that, was a big no-no as far as Pierce was concerned. I can't imagine him being very happy about it."

He's noticeably paled even in the half-light of the pre-dawn kitchen. "No I don't think he was happy with me on either occasion. I can't remember anything between Odessa and DC so I think it got me sent to cold storage." All this is said in a level monotone that strikes straight at her heart.

"So you see, that's why I don't want an apology from you, why I don't need one. Because twice Hydra tried to kill me and both times you chose to save my life."

He still looks unconvinced. Screw it she tried. She's always been more about actions than words anyway.

In a few graceful moves she shrugs out of the arms of her suit allowing it to fall down around her waist, slides back to resume her previous position in his lap, and grabs handfuls of his surprisingly silky hair before capturing his mouth securely with her own. After a fraction-of-a-second's hesitation he's finally kissing her back, thank god. She rocks forward again, and as hoped, his lips part in response granting her better access.

Unlike with Steve there will be no teasing about 'first kisses since the 1940s' on this occasion. In fact, if she has her way, there won't be much in the way of talking for a good long while. Tongues dual, lips battle, clash and caress - slow and sensual exploration with a delightful counterpoint of fierce and playful - and she can't seem to keep her teeth away from that captivating bottom lip of his. She brakes off for just a moment to catch her breath and he lowers his head, taking the opportunity to explore the pale expanse of her neck and chest with his attentive mouth.

The kitchen, the floor, none of it matter now, all that concerns her is the fact that there are definitely far too many clothes still in the equation. She pushes her hands up under the cotton of his shirt, feeling her way over the sculpted muscles of his abdomen which are so cruelly hidden from her sight by the offending garment. She runs her finger nails and finger tips lightly over them and feels him shiver at her touches.

She starts to push the soft fabric up revealing his frankly lickable stomach to her appreciative view, when suddenly his head is raised to hers, capturing her lips with his own once again, and both of his hands take hold of hers, causing the top to fall back into an approximation of its original position. Not that she's complaining about the kiss - he's a pretty spectacular kisser she's thrilled to discover - but that block wasn't even subtle. It could be 1940s hang-ups, things might be moving too fast, or it might simply be that the 'kitchen' part is more of a problem for him than it is for her. But she doesn't think James Barnes was ever the type to be bothered by those sorts of things. Her instincts tell her the arm is the issue, and her instincts are rarely, if ever, wrong.

No wonder they'd screamed at her to stay away from this beautiful disaster of a man. She's apparently going to have her work cut out for her.

She rises up onto her knees and guides his hands to where her uniform still clings to her around her hips, and urges him to start pushing it off and down her legs. The instant he's managed to navigate the skin-tight material down her thighs, she's reaching over and pulling his shirt up and over his head by the back, leaving him with no choice other than to allow her to finish taking it off him or otherwise remain trapped in the tangled fabric.

When he's free, his hair is in disarray, and he looks so disgruntled that in any other circumstance Natasha is sure she'd be laughing. But instead she dives back in, messing him up even further with eager fingers, and with her skilful lips sets about refocusing his attention on her body rather than his own. There's time enough for that later.

She's had more than enough build-up now, but she can't help but enjoy the view. His build is more warrior than athlete, wide at the shoulder and narrow at the waist, built for strength and endurance. But it's the scars around where his metal limb has been fused with his flesh that show what a fighter he really is. His survival is nothing short of miraculous.

They really do match.

In a flash of self-awareness she thinks this has been almost inevitable since the moment she caught that faint glint of sunlight on metal on a cliff-top along a coastal road in the Ukraine.

She leans forwards resting her weight on his chest while she fumbles - one leg at a time - to finally get free of her combat gear, his strong, slightly rough (in different ways) hands hold her up, stabilising her while she performs this last necessary manoeuvre on her part to allow skin to touch skin. They somehow manage to keep hungry, questing mouths in contact the entire time - now that's teamwork.

She's seated back snugly and securely in his lap only a few heartbeats later. This is now officially her new favourite spot. But practicalities. She uses her decades of combat experience to roll them over, reversing their positions. It's a sacrifice she's willing to make temporarily for the greater good. She breaks away from another searing kiss to snatch a much-needed breath, panting hot and heavy against his slightly-stubbled cheek while he seizes the initiative to drive her even crazier with gentle closed-mouthed caresses down the line of her throat, before seizing possession of her all to eager lips once again.

This, this could become habit-forming. She's never been the type to indulge in vices, but now that she's submitted to this one she knows that she could all too easily develop a dangerous dependency.

Right, time to focus.

Knees rise up to firmly grip his hips, and agile toes with perfectly painted nails (thank you Pepper), nimbly slip in to hook onto his waist band and start easing down the thick soft fabric separating them.

If there was ever a chance of stopping this fire that's ignited between them this was the point it needed to happen. There would be no going back.

Her toes encounter the top edge of his boxers and quickly tuck under, bringing them into her control and, a little too slowly for her liking, drawing them down. Hands would undeniably help move matters along at a faster pace, but hers are fully occupied running through his hair, and sending delightful shivers through his powerful form when she scratches lightly down the back of his neck. His are also unavailable for the job, currently holding him braced above her although she wouldn't object to feeling his body pressing fully against her own again even with his greater weight. She's making admirable progress though, and once she's manipulated them past his slightly-too-prominent hip bones things become far easier.

He breaks the kiss and blinks down at her for a moment before pale eyes flash up to view their surroundings then dip to meet hers in a focused stare.

"Natasha someone might-"

"I don't care."

"I don't have-"

"Don't need them."

A pause.

"Okay" and the interrupted kiss resumes with even more intensity if that was at all possible.

She finally achieves her aim and frees his now rock-hard erection to her appreciative gaze. It's as pleasingly proportioned as the rest of him she's glad to see. Although she'd already gathered as much from her earlier contact. His pants and underwear are still gathered around mid thigh, but it's good enough for now and Natasha simply refuses to wait any longer.

Unhooking her legs from around his torso and grudgingly releasing her death grip on his hair, she performs a move to remove her utilitarian cotton briefs that even she's not entirely sure how she achieves. James clearly wants to remove what's left of the set - he's already managed to work her bra straps down her arms - but in their current position that would mean a pause in proceedings, and surging need combined with impatience mean that's not something she's willing to entertain.

He manages to get clear of the last of his own clothing just as she reaches down between them and takes hold of his shaft with a firm but gentle grip, familiarising herself with the shape and feel of him and receiving a startled gasp and stunned blue eyes as a reward. From the strength of his reaction it's almost as if he's forgotten what this is like, and the fact that this could in fact be the gods honest truth breaks her heart and makes her hand linger longer than she had intended, offering up a few more skilled strokes with just the right amount of pressure to make his breathing accelerate and his eyes drift closed.

Next time round she'll do this properly for him. Focus with lips and tongue and teeth, and help him relearn what it means to simply feel. But right now her need for him is too much to deny, even for something as gratifying as she's sure that will be for both parties involved.

Again her legs move up and she uses her almost instinctual knowledge of centres of mass and momentum to reverse them back into their original configuration, and the second she's back on top she's enticing him to sit-upright with needy kisses and a gentle insistent pull on the back of his neck. The moment they're in position she joins her lips to his in a soft almost chaste caress and lowers herself onto him fast enough to make them both gasp.

Her body was more than ready for him, but she grips his shoulders - both the warm flesh one and the not unpleasantly cool metal one - tight for a moment as she adjusts to the sensations that being so intimately joined with him are provoking within her. Her eyelids flutter closed as she looses herself in the oddly familiar feeling of completeness, that she's also positive she's never experienced before. It's...confusing.

She quickly shakes it off to find his expressive eyes asking questions that she's sure will soon form on those sinfully-distracting lips - her potential new obsession - if she doesn't distract him in turn. So, maintaining eye-contact she begins to move, rising and falling back down so slowly that she's sure he'll protest. That is until she contracts her pelvic muscles just so, and suddenly hands that have been gently skating up and down her sides, almost afraid to touch, fiercely grasp her waist as his eyes snap shut and his head falls forward to rest gently on her collar bone.

As pleasing as that reaction was, their new position is in no way conducive to her continuing what she'd just so eagerly started, so she rotates her hips, clenching her walls around him again as she does, and his head comes up stealing her breath in another kiss before she resumes her irresistible rhythm of up and down once more.

She tries to keep her pace slow and steady, but as the friction builds into pleasure it becomes harder to restrain herself. Yet it's still not enough.

James seems dazed by it all, and she wonders if she's pushed him too far too fast, but it doesn't stop her from prying his hands from where they grip tightly at her waist - she can manipulate the metal hand just as easily as his real one she's surprised to find - and unabashedly moving them to her breasts.

Luckily her uncharacteristic bout of un-coordination from earlier seems to have passed, and she manages to split her focus beautifully, unfastening and removing her practical black bra, and urging his greater participation with well-timed motions, using lips and hands to seize his own and show him how and where she wants to be touched.

Then it's like a switch flips and he's suddenly totally present. The thumb of his right hand drags over her left nipple while his mouth latches onto the other and his mechanical arm wraps around her back supporting her as she rides him harder and faster. Dormant skills come into play, and she throws back her head and arches her back to seek more contact, as the combination of feather-light touches on the side of her breast and a gentle bite of his teeth on over-sensitive flesh make her cry out in delight.

His hips have started a sympathetic rotation to her own movements, producing yet another surge of sensation as their bodies come together at a new point. And as he focuses on making her see stars by systematically attacking every one of her body's most sensitive spots, she can feel herself getting closer and closer and she wonders how he can play her so expertly. She's had talented lovers before, but it was never like this the first time. Never.

His hand moves to where they're linked together, fingers quickly locating her now throbbing clit, sight unseen, and urging her on towards climax. It all feels so good, it's almost too much to handle and her breath is coming in short sharp gasps, but she's determined not to hit her peak without bringing him to his first. Natasha clenches her internal muscles around him and leans forward for a searing kiss before repeating the action as hard as she dares. She swears his eyes actually roll back in his head, and then the next moment he's biting down on her shoulder, stifling his yell as he comes inside her.

She feels herself about to follow him over the brink but she wants one last thing. She grabs his left hand and presses his cool, hard digits against the aching bundle of nerves at her centre before she comes with a scream she muffles against her own forearm.

Panting heavily she comes back to herself to find his beautiful blues gazing at her with surprise clear within them and she realises she still has a vise-like grip on his unyielding metal wrist. He tries to withdraw it but she holds his hand in place against her overheated flesh and looks into his eyes "Please James". He's still for a moment, clearly debating with himself, but then those unexpectedly dexterous artificial fingers begin to move ever so slowly and tentatively along her folds, circling the spot she wants him to touch the most.

She dives in plundering his mouth with hers, tongue slipping past his kiss-swollen lips to playfully tease his own until he finally relents and shifts his hand, giving her what she wants. She inhales sharply at the sensation of the smooth metal applying just the right amount of pressure, and within the span of a few heartbeats he's building her up to yet another climax. This time she can't stop the sounds of her release from escaping, but can't find it in herself to care.

She can feel him inside her still, half-hard again in reaction to her body's second orgasm, but as their foreheads come to rest against each other it becomes clear that neither of them are up to taking things any further right now, too physically and emotionally drained from the intensity of the experience.

Natasha grudgingly moves off of him, grabbing a nearby hand-towel from a railing to clean-herself up a bit before curling up on top of him where he's collapsed on his back on the floor. With his supersoldier constitution he'll be recovered in next to no time, and she looks forward to making the most of that fact on the next occasion she can arrange some down time and has the energy to test those limits to the full.

The cool air of the room makes her skin start to pebble but the warm solidity of her lover beneath her means that Natasha has no intention of moving. She tilts her head so that she can gaze up at his face from her position reclining on his chest. She raises an eyebrow "So same time tomorrow?"

His lips quirk up and despite the somewhat shell-shocked expression on his face he manages to inject his voice with an impressive amount of sass as he responds with "As long as we can skip the pep-talk next time. It's not really your forte".

Her exaggeratedly offended look does it's job, and the shock on his face is replaced by actual amusement that quickly builds into the first genuine laugh she's heard from him, and then, like the sun breaking out from behind clouds, his face is transformed by the flash of a blinding smile that makes her breath catch in her throat.

Suddenly she hears a different throat being cleared and the unmistakable voice of Sam Wilson breaks through their private bubble, "Umm guys, is everything all right in here? We heard a scream and Wanda said she felt someone in emotional distress?"

Luckily they're still concealed from prying Falcon eyes by the kitchen island.

Natasha examines her reflection in the dark glass of the oven, she looks totally wrecked, her red hair wild, there's no way she can let Sam or any of the others see her like this.

"It's all fine, thanks Sam, I was just demonstrating something that happened on the mission to Bucky-" ("Oh, now you call me Bucky" muttered quietly, a "Shut-up" hissed almost silently in reply) "- and I misjudged my landing. He's keeping me company down here until my pride recovers from my fall."

Embarrassing, but not too much to recover from as long as it gets Sam to leave so they can find clothing and steal back to the privacy of their quarters. Well one of their quarters anyway, she's not quite ready to let him go just yet, though she almost reconsiders as she looks down and finds him racked with silent laughter, but instead she settles for sticking her hand over his mouth and elbowing him in the ribs purely on principal. It doesn't matter how adorable he looks and how she'd jump him all over again if the aches and pains from her mission hadn't started to make themselves known - he wasn't being at all helpful.

"Right..." Sam sounds a little sceptical, she can't blame him. She's a fabulous liar but even she has trouble selling this weak of a premise,"as long as you're sure you're both okay. I need to go tell Steve to stand down, he's half convinced Hydra are going to storm the place at any given moment."

A look of guilt crosses James' face and she feels a twinge of her own. She knows how on edge Steve is about more Hydra factions coming after his friend. The presence of some of the Avengers hadn't been enough to put them off their pursuit last time so it wasn't an unfounded fear, just something unlikely to happen again in Natasha's opinion.

Lifting her hand away from his mouth and placing a gentle kiss on her palm, James finally speaks up "Tell him everything is fine Sam. I'll see him at breakfast."

"Can do." Sam sounds tired, hopefully his half-asleep state and the early hour have blunted his impressive powers of situational awareness, but somehow Natasha thinks he knows exactly what he just walked in on and it's just his genuine decency as a human being that's preventing him from calling them on their bullshit.

"All right then, goodnight." Natasha raises herself up just enough above the counter top to catch Sam walking out of the room, hand raised in a wave of farewell over his head as he shuffles back down the corridor.

Natasha settles back down on top of Bucky - he's more comfortable than the floor is the excuse she's going with - and breathes out a deep sigh. She looks over at Bucky, no James (she's sticking to her guns on this one), and sees him frowning again. She reaches up to smooth out the crease that's formed between his eyes, but her hand freezes mid-way when she hears voices from down the corridor. Apparently they weren't the only ones to forget the extent to which sound travels in this part of the converted warehouse.

It's Sam and he's talking to Steve "There's no problem, it's just Bucky and Nat in the kitchen." "She's back already? Is she hurt, I heard a yell?"

Her fingers land delicately on his brow and she gently runs the tips of them up and down his forehead until she sees him marginally relax.

"...Nah, nothing for us to worry about." Thanks Sam. She smiles into James' chest and places butterfly kisses along his ribs.

She hears an all too familiar chuckle and her head snaps up.

"Yeah I know Nat's yells and that wasn't her 'I'm in distress' one. I was right wasn't I? Come on, I was so right."

Oh no. Clint was here. What was Clint doing here?

"What's he talking about?" Steve again.

"Come-on man, it's almost 4am, we can play 20 Questions after a few more hours' sleep." Sam was doing his best, but Nat recognised that obstinate tone in her best friend's voice. Whatever this was about he wasn't going to let it drop.

"No rules are rules. I'm right, so pay up Bird-Boy. I win."

No, no, no. Natasha lifts herself up and begins locating their discarded clothing in the half-light. She has to get them out of there before Clint says what she thinks he's about to say. And after that she'll start planning on how to apologise to Laura for making her a widow and on how to explain 'justifiable homicide' to the kids.

"Bird-Boy? You know your codename's Hawkeye right?" "HawkEYE. Totally different vibe."

"Guys?"

"Look it's way too early for this. We can talk about it in the morning." "No way, you're not getting out of it. Tell me or I'm going in there to see myself."

Sam snorts "Your funeral."

So much for the benefit of the doubt on Sam knowing or not.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Steve's starting to sound a little irritated. Clint can have that effect.

She passes James - who's now sat upright - his clothing and finally locates her underwear. Her bra is hanging off the counter-top lamp, it was probably too big of a give-away for even a half-asleep Sam to miss. Drat.

"My victory you mean. Just admit it man. I mean I even got the time-frame right!"

There's a muttered "I coulda sworn I used to be in charge around here..." from Steve.

She's replaced her undergarments now and starts to slip back into her catsuit. She looks over at James and he's already fully-dressed. She loves how silently and efficiently he moves, she's never met anyone quite like him. She catches his eye, he looks curious about what's going on but returns the soft smile she sends his way. She points at the kitchen window and he nods in amused acknowledgement.

"Yes, OK, you were right, happy now? Great." Sam is clearly trying to put both the matter and the team to bed. But Clint just won't let it go. Of all the many things Tasha loved about the guy his frequent need to run off at the mouth wasn't one of them.

"You all said I was crazy but do I know our girl, or do I know our girl. I can't wait to see Rhodes' and Stark's faces."

James had risen to his feet and already started towards the window, but at this he stops and focuses again on the discussion down the hall.

Clint Barton is a dead man.

"No-one is going anywhere until someone explains all this" Steve says in his best Captain America tone.

She finishes zipping up and moves towards James, grabbing his hand and urging him to start moving again, but even as she does it she knows it's already too late...

Clint's practically crowing. "What's happening is that I'm now two grand richer because these bozos didn't believe me when I said Tasha would be jumping Barnes' bones before the month was through."

Natasha groans silently. Barnes stops moving and refuses to let go of her hand, stopping her from making her escape through the now-open window. She contemplates making him but it would definitely ruin the mood.

"That's not..." clearly something happens that stops Steve from completing that sentence. "Really?" Steve sounds stunned. "But I haven't even been able to get them to be in a room together for a team briefing."

"And no-one thought that was the least, little bit odd? Tash being all avoidy?"

"I just figured she was still a little off-balance with the team after everything that's happened." Steve still sounded perplexed "I mean Bucky's always been good with girls, but he's shot her - twice."

She glances at James who mouths at her "That's what I said." She simply rolls her eyes and tugs his hand trying to get him moving but he's clearly determined to hear the whole conversation. She resigns herself to what's to come.

"Plus it's Natasha, and with what happened with Bruce last year..." Steve trails off, clearly uncomfortable discussing his team-mates' romantic lives.

James shoots her an inquiring look, she silently replies "Later".

"Sam you took this bet?" there's a tiny hint of disappointment in Steve's voice as he asks this.

"Hell no, I'm just the judge, too rich for my blood." There must have been a look from Rogers "And making bets about your friends' love lives is all kinds of wrong obviously..."

Clearly Steve wasn't buying it. "Fine, so I would of if it wouldn't have made me feel guilty from taking money away from his kids. Not like I thought it was likely with what you told me about her and Banner, and the fact that Barnes is still severely traumatised and barely holding it together on a good day."

She shoots James a searching look but he just shrugs at her in a 'What? It's true' gesture that makes her feel as though she's been stabbed through the gut. The effect this man is having on her didn't just scare her any more, she's now honestly terrified. She barely knows him and yet she feels closer to him than she ever has to anyone. She needs to get away, but he was still holding her hand tightly in his own.

"You've both obviously never heard her talk about The Winter Soldier." Clint's words break through her mounting panic.

Oh crap.

"He's like her assassin-idol or something. She used to get so much stick from the other agents when she'd go haring off at the slightest rumour of him after Odessa. Of course none of us thought he actually existed so more fool us. But the second she met Barnes, found out he was non-evil, had been through similar shit to her, speaks fluent Russian and is hot and funny besides, she was doomed, it just took her a few weeks to realise it."

Natasha feels her cheeks grow warm as the embarrassment properly kicks in. That's what she gets for letting Clint behind her walls.

"Are you sure **you** don't have a thing for Barnes?" Sam sounds highly amused.

"I'm a happily married man as you well know," Clint replies "but yeah maybe a little. I mean you've seen him shoot right?"

She feels James shaking and turns to see him almost doubled over, trying to prevent a bout of laughter from breaking free, the haunted look from before giving way to mirth. His eyesight is apparently enhanced enough to spot her blush even in the gloom and he releases her hand to tenderly stroke her far too rosy cheek.

Clint is right she's doomed. But suddenly she doesn't care. She pushes him against the wall and kisses him hard. OK. Maybe just give her an hour to sleep and she'll be good to go again. She takes his hand, his left one this time, and he finally allows her to guide him out through the window.

They overhear one last exchange between their bickering friends "It's like they're Soviet soulmates." "Bucky's American Clint." "Where's your poet's soul Cap?" "I do art not poetry..." before they both escape outside and finally let loose the laughter they're both fighting back.

She breaks into her own quarters and guides him into her bedroom, and - after a few slow and heady kisses - she succeeds in getting them both stripped-down to their underwear again, pulling him down onto the bed and into her arms. They both seem content to simply hold each other until sleep claims them.

Her eyes are drifting shut when she feels him plant a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you."

She forces them open again. "What for?"

"For making me feel like a person again."

If she hadn't already dedicated herself to that cause, those words alone would have been enough to make her vow the total annihilation of Hydra. She pushes down the anger, it's not what he needs to see. Instead she mutters a blasé "I'm here all week" and gets a huff of soft laughter as her reward. More than his voice, more than his moans of pleasure, that, she decides at last, might just be her favourite sound of all.

As she drifts off wrapped in his arms, one warm and strong, the other cool and hard but holding her gently, she realises that she feels as though she's finally found another missing piece of herself. Too tired to question it, she simply embraces the sense of contentment it brings and files her curiosity away for another day. 'So this is what it feels like to be home'.

* * *

I've kinda just implied Natasha's emotional journey here, but I'd love to hear people's interpretation of it. This is now an AU in light of Civil War.


	2. Want, Take, Have - Redux (Sam's Tale)

A brief foray into Sam's head a little before and during the events of last chapter.

* * *

Sam likes James Barnes. He can say that unequivocally. It's now been six weeks since the smoke cleared on the major crapfest that had arisen out of that perfect storm of Government paranoia, Tony's ill-conceived quest for redemption (or vengeance - although it's not exactly an either/or situation) and Hydra rearing yet another one of its ugly-ass heads, and he's finally starting to see the guy that Steve Rogers had (rarely) talked about.

He's a hoot. Fucked-up seven ways to Sunday there's no denying that. But he's intelligent, funny and far more 'in with the kids' than his 'once again' best friend. Sam also finds him more than a little terrifying, but that's just smart. Tasha and Wanda have fast become some of his favourite people and he freely admits that they scare the shit out of him.

So when his two lovely ladies - sadly both resistant to his charms - start reacting in very different ways to the new arrival, it instantly raises a whole platoon of red flags.

Tasha starts vanishing off on 'urgent' missions for Fury so Sam can't confront her about the way she's been half-shadowing, half 'avoiding like the plague', the recovering POW in their midst. But he's got his hands pretty full as it is.

Steve's dangerously giddy. And even worse he's Steve so he also feels guilty about it. He's pushing Barnes to remember their lives, and Barnes is doing his best to hide it when things don't quite click, when Steve reaches for a treasured shared memory and all James has in its corresponding place is a blank void.

For the most part he manages to cover those moments like the pro he is. Even Sam had been convinced. In fact the only reason he now knows exactly how little of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes' life the former Winter Soldier actually has to hand is the lady in red.

A few days ago Sam had had to emotionally lift Steve off the ground when James didn't respond to Steve calling him Bucky. Not in the 'he hadn't heard him' way. Although that might be damn-well near impossible. They're discovering that James' senses are enhanced to pretty-much the same extent as Steve's. It was simply that for a few moments the guy honestly forgot that the name had anything to do with him. It was just a few moments but Sam had seen the pain on Steve's face, and so apparently had James.

Sam's been reminding Steve that this is a process, but even being the self-sacrificing son-of-a-bitch that he is doesn't stop Captain America's heart being strikingly visible on his sleeve. But there are good days and bad, so Sam doesn't over-think it when just this morning he finds Barnes back accepting Steve's casual touches and sharing recollections as they work out in the gym. That is until he comes across Wanda stood silently crying in the corridor outside.

They've become close - lots of late-night chats over hot cocoa as he helped her deal with her grief over her brother. He's found her someone with more experience in family bereavement to aid her in dealing with loosing Pietro and her parents, but he recognises what that mourning looks like well enough to know that that's not what he's walked-into here.

He gently shepherds her away from the gym and into the den where they can talk without risk of disturbing the two supersoldiers. And he eventually gets her to spill. This isn't the first time he's noticed she's upset around the guy, just the first time he's addressing it.

She's been sensing Barnes' emotions it turns out. She can see behind that mask he wears and it's breaking her heart.

"He doesn't remember it" she tells him between sobs, "the good parts. He has only moments, fragments of it back, a smile, a voice, a fight in an alley," she looks confused about why this would be a 'good memory', "but the rest of his mind is pain and death and sadness."

Sam wishes he'd been more surprised at the revelation, but he's discovered that the two legendary soldiers are pretty much total dumb-asses when it comes to each other.

Steve looks at Barnes with so much love in his eyes, that if Sam didn't know about Peggy, and hadn't seen the growing attachment between Steve and Sharon, he mighta started wondering if there wasn't a little more to it than platonic friendship - even life-long friendship - on Steve's side. And despite barely remembering him, Barnes has apparently made it the Soldier's new mission to make Steve happy by taking the 'fake it until you make it' approach to mental health. It's all so tragic and noble they ought to sell the film-rights to Hallmark or something.

It's also probably going to implode in spectacular fashion if Sam doesn't do something. Professionally he knows he's way out of his depth, and what's more he shouldn't be counselling friends, but he's also the one with the access and the knowledge so really he doesn't have much of a choice here. He also can't stand to see Wanda looking helpless, so he enlists her in his plan to start getting people to deal with their shit.

He's been considering for a while now that her freaky-ass mind powers could help James get his head a little more together. He'd actually gone so far as to suggest it to Steve which, it turns out, had been a bad move.

As much as Steve trusts Wanda, he'd totally freaked out at the suggestion.

Oh, he'd hidden it behind a veneer of cool consideration and calm, collected reasoning, uttering sensible phrases like "Let's give it a little more time to sort itself out naturally" and "It's good to have another option to fall back on". But Sam knew him well enough by now to know that was all total crap, and Steve just wasn't willing to trust his best friend's safety and sanity to anyone but himself. He'd even doubled-up on all the Stark security in the base with Pym tech "Just in case".

In case of what he wouldn't specify, maybe he thought Stark's lack of fondness for Bucky ("Oh, excuse me for not instantly going all googly-eyed over the guy who killed my parents. I'm-working-on-it!") might impact the performance of his equipment somehow. Now that he was out of survival mode Steve seemed to have lost all composure where the other man is concerned. He's even started running interference when Sam's trying to discuss counselling with James. It would be adorable if it wasn't so frustrating, and yet another reason Sam's half convinced that Steve's more than half in love with his childhood companion.

Thank Thor and all the other gods it isn't reciprocated; Sharon is exactly what Steve needs even with all the baggage of her family connections. And all Sam needs to tell him exactly where Barnes' interest lies is to see his rapt focus and utter dejection when Natasha enters a room before quickly leaving it again. Poor guy. As if he hasn't suffered enough. Not that Sam doesn't understand the appeal, and the fact that Nat will kill him quickly and efficiently if he ever says that out loud is a big part of it.

But now he has Wanda onside and they're going to go direct to the source. Despite his best ("Slightly suffocating me here Steve!") efforts, Cap can't watch-over his friend every moment of the day. And this should be Barnes' decision.

Wanda's said that she should be able to tell when he's alone. Apparently being around Steve isn't as easy for James as he makes out. So when she comes knocking at his door at the ass-end of the night to tell him that Barnes is awake and in emotional distress - but not with Steve - he pulls himself together and gets ready to go do his thing. Then they hear a scream that sounds distinctly like Natasha. Except it can't be. She's not back until tomorrow.

Steve suddenly comes running along the corridor, stopping where Wanda and Sam are currently standing.

"What's happening? Are we under attack?" Steve looks panicked and as if he's about to go charging into the kitchen before even waiting for the answers.

Times like these it's impossible not to see that Steve is from a totally different generation. There's no way a red-blooded guy brought up in the internet age would mistake that for a cry of distress.

Wanda has clearly picked up on even more of what's going on as her cheeks are rapidly turning the same bright scarlet she's so fond of wearing.

Dear god it is way too late - or too early, he can't decide - to be dealing with this, but somehow he still finds himself feeling the need to protect Steve's 1940s sensibilities.

"Hey man, you get Wanda back to her room or somewhere secure, I'll check it out. It's probably nothing. Someone's probably just got a cramp or something."

Wanda snorts before trying to disguise it as a cough. Steve shoots them both a look. He's from the 1940s, he's not stupid.

"Just let me know he- that everything's all right." Clearly he's already checked Barnes' room and found it empty.

Steve escorts Wanda back to her room like the gentleman he is, and Sam feels like a tool for a second or two before sucking it up and gamely venturing into the kitchen.

It's dark. That's the first thing he notices, and he'd think it was empty if it wasn't for the second thing he notices. The unmistakable silhouette of a woman's bra hanging off the kitchen lamp. Well damn. Barnes has got some serious game.

He hears a soft murmur followed by the surprisingly light sound of Barnes' laughter. Now he knows he's intruding. He clears his throat to announce his presence though he's surprised they didn't hear him coming. They must both be seriously distracted. He fights down the amused smile so they won't hear it in his voice.

"Umm guys, is everything all right in here? We heard a scream and Wanda said she felt someone in emotional distress?" That's his story and he's sticking with it.

There's a distinct pause before Natasha finally answers him. "It's all fine, thanks Sam, I was just demonstrating something that happened on the mission to Bucky-" Sam hears a quiet interruption from Barnes and a hiss(?) from Natasha between words "- and I misjudged my landing. He's keeping me company down here until my pride recovers from my fall."

Riggght...

"Right..."

Like he'd believe that. Not even Vision would fall for that excuse.

It seems as though whatever Barnes has done has broken the Black Widow if that's the best she can come up with. Once he's over his surprise at the whole situation he's pretty sure he'll be happy for them. His crush on Natasha is down to manageable levels, and despite the fact that both she and James are disaster areas emotionally, they might actually be good for each other.

He's now doubly-glad he didn't take a piece of Clint's action. He'd really thought Tasha shooting Barnes in the leg was a more likely outcome than this. He clearly needs to brush up on his Russian Death Glares if he can't tell 'I want you dead' from 'I want to jump your bones'. Clint's going to be insufferable.

He'll have to table his talk with Barnes for another time. For now he has a national icon to get back to bed.

"...as long as you're sure you're both okay. I need to go tell Steve to stand down, he's half convinced Hydra are going to storm the place at any given moment." In other words guys - you owe me.

"Tell him everything is fine Sam. I'll see him at breakfast." He was contemplating turning the lights on, but James piping up derails his plan for mischief. He knows how hard it is for the guy to draw attention to himself in any way and he doesn't want to hurt his progress. So with a tired-sounding "Can do" he leaves them to it. Bed is calling and he can give them hell about all this tomorrow morning after sleeping has been done.

However, as he shuffles back up the corridor with a wave, not only is Steve there but also Clint - already looking smug. Oh boy. Maybe he can head this off at the pass.

"There's no problem, it's just Bucky and Natasha in the kitchen."

Steve looks mildly surprised and no less concerned. "She's back already? Is she hurt, I heard a yell?"

"Nah, nothing for us to worry about." Best to keep it vague.

Clint laughs. Hawkeye is great usually, but right now Sam wishes he could pull-off one of Tasha's death-glares (the 'wishing you bodily harm one', not the 'I want your body one' obviously).

"Yeah I know Nat's yells and that wasn't her 'I'm in distress' one. I was right wasn't I? Come on, I was so right."

"What's he talking about?" No way Steve is going to let this go now. Thanks a million Clint.

He still had to try though. "Come-on man, it's almost 4am, we can play 20 Questions after a few more hours' sleep."

"No, rules are rules. I'm right, so pay up Bird-Boy. I win."

Shit. So much for brushing this under the rug. And excuse me? Bird-Boy?

"Bird-Boy? You know your codename's Hawkeye right?"

"HawkEYE. Totally different vibe."

Yeah says you.

"Guys?" Steve's sounding a tad frustrated but Sam is honestly too tired to care.

"Look it's way too early for this. We can talk about it in the morning."

"No way, you're not getting out of it. Tell me or I'm going in there to see myself."

How is it that the least mature of all of them (with the possible exception of Stark) is the one with the wife and kids?

And hell, if that's how he wants it Sam's going to join him on his level.

"Your funeral" he says with a scoff. That was a scoff right?

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Steve's moved on from frustrated to irritated.

"My victory you mean. Just admit it man. I mean I even got the time-frame right!" Man why won't you just shut up?

There's a muttered "I coulda sworn I used to be in charge around here..." from Steve.

"Yes, OK, you were right. Happy now? Great."

That's it. He's had enough. He tried to be a good friend. This one's all on Bird-brain. He can have the world's two scariest Soviet assassins after his head. Sam is so out of this.

Clint actually fist-pumps.

"You all said I was crazy but do I know our girl, or do I know our girl. I can't wait to see Rhodes' and Stark's faces." Death-wish thy name is Clint Barton.

"No-one is going anywhere until someone explains all this." Oh no, Steve's pulled out the Captain America voice.

There's no way Barton would be stupi...

"What's happening is that I'm now two grand richer because these bozos didn't believe me when I said Tasha would be jumping Barnes' bones before the month was through."

Bang goes that theory. And hey! He hadn't taken that bet. OK so he hadn't believed Clint's prediction either, but no fair dragging him into it.

Steve looks stunned. "That's not..." he looks at Sam. Sam's had enough and with a sigh he just nods.

"Really?" Steve now sounds stunned too. "But I haven't even been able to get them to be in a room together for a team briefing."

"And no-one thought that was the least, little bit odd? Tash being all avoidy?" Clint asks.

Umm, yes, me.

"I just figured she was still a little off-balance with the team after everything that's happened." Steve still sounded perplexed "I mean Bucky's always been good with girls, but he's shot her - twice."

That's what Sam had logically assumed too.

He wonders if he should be saying this out loud, but it's too much effort.

And Steve's not finished working through this it would seem..."Plus it's Natasha, and with what happened with Bruce last year...".

Yeah he'd heard about that. Didn't get it. Made even less sense than her and Barnes.

"Sam you took this bet?" Steve sounds disappointed in him. How is this his deal?

"Hell no, I'm just the judge, too rich for my blood." Steve frowns. "And making bets about your friends' love lives is all kinds of wrong obviously..."

Clearly Steve wasn't buying it.

"Fine, so I would of if it wouldn't have made me feel guilty from taking money away from his kids. Not like I thought it was likely with what you told me about her and Banner, and the fact that Barnes is still severely traumatised and barely holding it together on a good day."

Well someone needed to say it. Pretending all was right in the world of Bucky Barnes wasn't going to help anyone. Steve looks sad but resigned. He knows, he just doesn't want to acknowledge it.

"You've both obviously never heard her talk about The Winter Soldier." Clint's words trample all over the moment. Nice.

"He's like her assassin-idol or something. She used to get so much stick from the other agents when she'd go haring off at the slightest rumour of him after Odessa. Of course none of us thought he actually existed so more fool us. But the second she met Barnes, found out he was non-evil, had been through similar shit to her, speaks fluent Russian and is hot and funny besides, she was doomed, it just took her a few weeks to realise it."

Maybe Nat and Steve aren't the only ones with a thing for the long-haired assassin...

"Are you sure **you** don't have a thing for Barnes?" Sam knows he sounds highly amused.

"I'm a happily married man as you well know," Clint replies "but yeah maybe a little. I mean you've seen him shoot right?"

Oh lord, he was surrounded. Maybe they should band together and form an appreciation society. Cap already had one, it'd only be fair.

Clearly he was going to have to be the unbiased voice of reason in all matters James Barnes. Though he would admit the guy did have a certain 'James Dean' thing going on when he wasn't busy looking like a grunge rock reject.

"It's like they're Soviet soulmates." He swears Clint isn't usually this annoying.

"Bucky's American Clint."

"Where's your poet's soul Cap?"

"I do art not poetry..."

He walks - well more trudges - away and leaves the two of them to it.

It's definitely way, way too early for all this.

Remind him why he'd wanted to be an Avenger again?

He presses the finger-print scanning button that opens the door to his rooms. Oh yeah. Cool shit like that. And saving the world. That was good too.

Entering his own space - finally - he heads to the bedroom and throws himself face-first on to the soft covers of his bed with a groan.

Tomorrow - well later today - he's going to have that talk with Barnes. Then he'll chat to Clint about over-shares and find out exactly what's going on in Tasha's head. If she'll let him.

And if he gets through all that by lunch, maybe he'll just make a full day of it and have the most awkward conversation imaginable with his friend/hero about whether or not he's repressing feelings for his risen-from-the-dead best friend, and how he feels about the possibility of James being in a relationship with Tasha - if that's where that's heading.

But now he simply lets his eye-lids fall shut, and thinks only of blue open skies and the joy of flying.


	3. What Clint Did - Part 1 (or Sniper Bros)

And it's Clint!  
So why exactly was Clint there again?

On the advice of my lovely beta reader MsBrooklyn this 'Clint chapter' has now been split into two, because it turns out Clint was up to more behind the scenes than even I knew.

A few comments may even inspire me to get the second-half of this up this weekend - you never know ;)

* * *

He has a farm to run. They don't run themselves. People seem to forget about that.

OK, so Laura actually handles the majority of it so he can focus on being the kick-ass spy/Avenger/teenage-super-hero-wrangler that his team mates both need and love. But despite calling dibs on some serious time-off post SHIELD's fall, he'd suited back up, and joined up with Cap and essentially made himself an outlaw. Which, sadly, was not as cool as it sounds on paper.

And somehow he'd wound up on the opposite side to Nat. All right, so he knows she was trying to stop the two sides from damaging each other too badly and make sure they all made it through the Government and Tony's idiocy mostly intact, as well as probably the usual 1001 reasons Nat has for doing anything that no-one else has even thought of. But come on. He'd had to fight her - for real - for fuck's sake. It had been horrible.

So when he'd once again requested a few months' leave to sort out his legal status, grovel to his repeatedly put-upon and FBI-interrogated wife, and spend some quality time with the kids, he didn't think he'd been asking too much. And yet it had only been six weeks and he'd already popped back to Avengers HQ almost half-a-dozen times.

He'd been called in to debrief - fair enough - and to register under the new less-invasive accords (he was less happy about that one), but the other three, or was it four (?), times he'd been asked to come in by either Steve or Sam (and once by Wanda) to step into the path of hurricane Bucky. Maybe it's a little unfair to compare the guy to a natural disaster, but Clint feels it's pretty apt as, boy, was he making a god awful mess just by being what he was.

After years of admirably holding it together Steve was now an emotional wreck - by his standards anyway. He didn't know what exactly to do or say around his once and future BFF without creating too much pressure, or 'unrealistic expectations', or whatever other psycho-babble PC terminology he'd picked up from those books Sam had him reading.

Clint wants to tell him that Barnes needs a friend more than he needs a therapist - lord knows the kid's about the have enough of those. Extensive analysis, observation, and treatment are a part of the package of conditions Steve had been forced to accept on his friend's behalf, simply to be allowed to take custody of The Winter Soldier until the bigwigs in DC decided how best to 'deal' with him.

With everything that Bucky's already been through, the rumours now circulating in the intelligence community about a trial and Russian extradition are enough to make Clint see red. So when Steve shows up at his door, looking at a total loss and asking him to come talk to Barnes "because it might be good for him to have someone to talk to who he hasn't almost killed" and that Bucky trusts him, Clint can't say no. Even though he knows that there's another reason Steve's coming to him that he's omitting to mention, the brainwashing, and he most definitely does not want to dig all that up again.

So he comes and he takes an mostly unresponsive Bucky to go blow shit up. Well, hey, it worked for him, so he figures Barnes might also find it therapeutic. He even lends him his bow and exploding arrows, and the guy takes to the weapon with such ease Clint feels a little jealous for a minute until he falls back into a bit of the hero worship he had for Sergeant Barnes as a kid and he's OK with it again. He decides to see if the reality lives up to the legend and makes the shots progressively harder. Bucky clearly isn't in the mood to talk quite yet, so Clint does the heavy lifting. He slips in tidbits about his run in with Loki and how coming out to this range had helped him get his head together after. That and a lot of patience and understanding from both Laura and Nat.

He's more accurate with the bow at long distances due to his years of experience it turns out. But Barnes can make the arrows go a hell of a lot further and still hits the target every single time.

Bucky starts to contribute a little to the conversation at this point, and the fact that most of the questions that he forces out against his lingering conditioning - very subtly - revolve around Natasha doesn't escape Clint's notice. He is a spy after all.

Although with that last question inquiring about her favourite foods - to remind him of Russian dishes he might have tried of course - all subtlety seemed to have gone out the window. Clint should probably warn him about the raisin bread.

The kid - and Clint can't help thinking of him that way (he can only be what - 30? - at a stretch) - doesn't exactly open up, but when Clint proposes another play date for the two of them for a few weeks' time, Barnes actually smiles and says he'd like that - if he's not been carted away to a Russian gulag by then. That's the first time Clint experiences Bucky Barnes' awesome and fairly dark brand of humour.

He then heads home and fixes the squeaky barn door he's been promising Laura he'd sort for the past few weeks. He's not allowed to mess with anything in the house for at least the next year, and he has to somehow make up for leaving her alone with a teething Nathaniel, and the rest of the kids, for the better part of the day.

Speaking of Nate, his name-sake once again isn't around when Clint drops Barnes back off, but she's been messaging both him and Laura with updates so he's not too concerned. That is until he's back at Avengers central for round two with his net arrows and a clay pigeon launcher in tow. He wants to see how he and the kid match up with moving targets.

He's better at the timing of deploying the nets, Bucky is better at multiple bogeys. They are so going to kick bad-guy ass when they finally get the two of them in the field together. The sniper bros are going to be so much cooler as a thing than the science bros - even if he will have to share Barnes with Cap (they are actual bros after all, or as near as that it makes no difference).

He's decided to stay a little longer this time, despite the fact that he feels more than a bit out of place around the 'newbies'. Barnes now seems far more relaxed, and is regaling him and Sam with an epically-funny story he's just remembered about Cap, a goat, and a French farm girl, that really should be in all the history books, when he looks up and sees Nat in the doorway.

"Nat?"

She freezes, looks at Clint guiltily, shoots Barnes a cold, flat stare and turns to leave. He hears her run into Steve in the hallway and make a Fury-related excuse as to why she's going to be unable to attend the team briefing about the Avengers' status going forward.

She actually asks Steve to send her a memo. Nat's never requested a memo in her life.

Clint sees the humour drain out of Bucky's eyes to be quickly replaced by guilt as he notices Nat's hasty exit. Aw, Bucky, no.

Clint needs to find out what's going on with her. The look she gave Barnes was totally weird. He'd say she was compromised, but doesn't get what Barnes could have done to merit getting under Nat's skin that way. Maybe she was sore about the twin bullet scars - he never got why she hadn't had them removed, the offer had been there. But Nat in general was more pragmatic than that. And she was too fair a person to hold him responsible for the trauma of Fury's fake death.

If anything he thought she'd be eager to debrief the guy, what with her prior fascination with him...

Ooh. Right. Clint thinks he gets it now.

You can't say his girl's not consistent. He knew Banner leaving had hurt her but she needs to work this shit out, and soon. No way is he dealing with her screwing up Barnes' fragile mental state - not when he has plans for some truly legendary trick shots in the works.

There's a tense silence when Steve properly enters the room. That is until Barnes uncannily impersonates a goat and Steve, startled, jumps a ridiculous distance in the air. As he and Sam crack up, Steve narrows his eyes in a glare directed at Bucky. "You didn't."

Barnes' face is the picture of innocence "Didn't what Steve?"

Steve folds his arms and raises an eyebrow but Clint can tell that he's biting back a smile. He's clearly thrilled to see his friend making jokes, even ones at his expense. Using his best Cap voice he announces that the briefing will be in an hour if Clint wants to stick around and tells the other two not to be late. Clint just catches the smile properly breaking out on the Avengers team leader's face when he turns on his heel to leave the room. But it seems as though that's all the levity Barnes is capable of for the day, and picking up on this, Sam, bless his smooth cotton socks, normalises the atmosphere by suggesting baseball teams that Bucky should support now that his once-precious Dodgers have gone all turncoat by moving to another state. But Clint couldn't help but notice Bucky, noticing Sam noticing the look on Steve's face when he left the room. Sam had weirdly appeared concerned rather than relieved. Whatever was going on there Clint WAS NOT going to get involved with it. He already had three kids and an angst-ridden assassin on his plate. And a farm.

And as for Tash she knew where he was if she wanted to talk after all, so he makes his exit. He has crops to crop or bales to bale. Well there was always something that needed doing, it was a farm for Pete's sake.

The next time he's called in it's by Sam the Man himself, almost four weeks to the day after everything's died down. They've lost Barnes and Steve is on the verge of a meltdown. FRIDAY is telling them that he's still on the base, but apparently she can't locate his exact position. He's just that good.

The story goes that Stark turned up unannounced the day before, ostensibly to visit Rhodey, and there was a run-in between him and Bucky. Apparently Stark said some things about Barnes being responsible for his parents' deaths. This is news to Clint, as it apparently was to Bucky too.

Not so much to Steve though from what Sam tells him. And when Barnes - still being able to read Rogers better than any of them - saw this on his pal's face he'd fled and not been seen since.

This was thirteen hours ago. They (as in the others and not just Steve) are now getting worried. Sam tells him that they still need to remind Barnes to eat enough most days as he's still not used to having full autonomy. Clint thinks there's probably a hefty dose of self-punishment mixed in there too but he's sure Sam is well aware of that likelihood.

Wanda's still figuring out how her powers work but she doesn't seem to be able to magic (or whatever) Barnes out of hiding. She's managed to sense him, but just like FRIDAY she can't get them a location. And Sam says she seems pretty upset that she hasn't been able to find him - she's apparently become quite protective of their housebroken hit-man. He wants Clint to know they've tried everything, "Even calling Natasha", but she's off on yet another mystery mission she can't or won't tell them about. So they're now asking for his help. And Sam's the one calling because Steve doesn't want to pressure Clint into it.

Clint almost wants to tell them to save their breath, Barnes has somehow managed to win him over completely and he's already writing a note to Laura, who's taken the kids out for a movie, and looking up flight times before Sam's even finished his spiel.

What is it with him and brainwashed Soviet assassins? As far as soft-spots go his is pretty damn specific. He's already asked Laura if he can bring the kid to stay with them at the farm for a while if the PTBs and Steve will let him. He'd figured the wide open spaces and the family atmosphere would do Bucky some good.

Steve, in the few brief recollections he's shared with the team about Bucky before the war, has made him out to pretty much be the 'bestest big brother ever' so Clint has no concerns about him being around the kids. He was going to invite him this week, but for that to happen he'll have to find the guy first.

So he schleps over to Avengers HQ yet again and finds Barnes in the second place he looks. He never claimed he wasn't the right guy for the job. He's in the roof space above one of the lesser-used corridors. It's one of Clint's preferred spots in the base to hide out - primarily for the reason he sees that Barnes has also discovered. Remove a plate over an external vent in the duct (after disabling a few security measures) and you get a truly stunning sunset view over the surrounding area. And great site lines of course, but that's just an added bonus.

Clint sticks his head up through the space left by the entry panel he's just removed. He hates dangling, but just barging in would be plain rude. He lifts a hand from where he's gripping the edge and gives Bucky a quick wave. "Mind if I join you?"

Barnes shakes his head no. Clint navigates to the spot beside Barnes with the ease of a man used to tight spaces. He sits quietly sharing the sight of the sun dropping below the horizon in its daily light show and holds out the honey and pistachio energy bar he's brought with him. He's noticed Bucky seemed to like those. It's taken off him with a soft "Thanks" and after a few more quiet minutes Barnes opens the wrapper, snaps a piece off and eats it almost silently.

Clint didn't get how he managed that - the silent thing - it has to be natural. No way it could be taught or he and Nat would have learned it along the way too. Oh they were fucking quiet, they could make themselves damned-near undetectable when they wanted to, but Barnes moved like the ghost that legend had made him out to be.

"So Stark's a bit of a douche."

That gets him a slight chuckle. "He's a lot like his old man. I liked Howard - most of the time."

Clint watches the last of the daylight fade for a second or two longer before turning to face the guy he now definitely considers a friend. "There's no evidence you were involved."

Bucky huffs a tight laugh at that. "There's no evidence at all from what I've seen. That just makes it more likely it was me."

Clint rolls his eyes. This is one hell of a guilt complex he's working against here. He needs to come up with a way to make Stark pay for doing this to the kid. He's got no excuse, he's seen the Winter Soldier file and knows the hell Barnes has been through. With what happened to him and Pepper you'd think he'd have more empathy, but no, his Daddy-issues apparently out-weigh all that.

"Even if that's true - and Stark Senior was the head of SHIELD, it wouldn't just be Hydra gunning for him - that doesn't give Stark the right to say all that to you."

"Why not. I probably killed his parents. And even if I didn't kill his, I definitely killed other people's. Good people."

"That's not totally true."

Barnes turns his head and gives him a disbelieving look.

"I've seen your hit list, some of the guys Hydra had you take out were top-tier bastards, the types that no-one's going to lose any sleep over having them gone from the world. So don't go thinking you took out two dozen Lincolns or Martin Luther Kings because, I'm here to tell you, that's not the case."

There was a quietly muttered "I lose sleep over it" in reply.

Clint sighs. "You and me both kid."

"I'm 98. I think."

"Phff. Tasha's older than you are."

Bucky looks at him through the curtain of his chin-length hair. Though he'd not voiced it, Clint can see the question he wants to ask.

"I know the people I killed under Loki's control were good people, most were colleagues. Okay, so it turns out one was Hydra, but I didn't know that at the time. And as for Tony he probably won't ever know how many people he helped thugs like the Ten Rings take out through his weapons. Hell it was a Stark bomb that killed Wanda's parents."

That seemed to surprise Barnes.

"Stark is lucky she wasn't there to hear him, or he might be floating upside-down from the ceiling right now, and that's if Wanda was in a forgiving mood. Turns out our little red menace is kind of fond of you."

The kid looks genuinely surprised to hear it, but there's a touch of happy in there too. Maybe they are finally getting somewhere.

But Barnes still shakes his head. "I need to know."

"You remembering much more?"

He shakes his head more emphatically this time. "Just bits and pieces, nothing whole from the last 70 years and only a few things from before that. I still feel like an imposter pretending to be Captain America's old friend half the time. I keep letting Steve down."

He looks so lost, it's like Clint's first months with Nat all over again. Except somehow Barnes looks even sadder than a sad puppy while still being one of the most dangerous beings on the planet. It was the combination of the pouty lip and slightly emo hair Clint suspects.

"That's a lot of baggage to carry even for someone with a vibranium arm Bucky-boy. I think you need a break. Ever spend time on a farm?"

So that's how he ends up calling Laura explaining he's returning with a house guest sooner than planned, and leaves with a lecture in the care and nurturing of sad super-soldiers from the slightly terrifying double team of Captain America and counsellor Bird Boy. They simply 'forget' to ask for anyone's permission and get Stark to cover for them to try and make some amends to Steve (and Wanda who may have threatened Tony's classic car collection if he didn't apologise to Bucky - and soon).

Cooper and Lila love the guy and if he was a less secure man he might be a little concerned at how much Laura takes to him. But that night, when she mentions that she thinks he and Natasha would be perfect for each other - once Bucky's a little more stable - Clint can't help smiling and sharing his suspicions that it might already be too late for that kind of proviso.

Laura just smiles and sleepily mutters something about 'helping them work it out'. God he loves this woman.


	4. What Clint Did - Part 2 (or A Bet and a

Here's the second half. Now with more exploding arrows and Clint being sneaky.

I don't really like the whole 'Bucky killed the Starks' thing but I think it's the way the MCU is going to go with this one.

Huge thanks go to MsBrooklyn my wonderful beta. December 3rd is my Birthday. Reviews would be a great gift #justsaying

* * *

The next time he makes the cross-country trek is only five days after they've returned Barnes to Steve's safe-keeping, and the trip's primarily made in response to a cry of distress from Wanda.

Turns out that she's been tuned into Radio Bucky since she tried to hone in on his location last week. She'd been hoping that the connection would have faded while he was away at Clint's but no such luck. Four days in and she's a sobbing mess in the corner of her quarters when Clint arrives and scoops her up into a firm hug. She's a good girl, he'd be proud if Lila ended up like her.

Neither she nor Clint blame Barnes for this. And he can't find out, whatever progress he's made from his four days as an honorary Barton - and he does seem to have made some - would vanish in an instant. The guy's as fond of Wanda as she is of him. Steve thinks she reminds Bucky of his sister Rebecca even though Bucky claims he can't remember her. Clearly she definitely reminds Steve of the long-lost pseudo sister he still remembers so fondly.

Clint wonders why no-one ever talks about what else these two (still) young guys have lost and sacrificed. And despite all this, the President (the one Stark saved no less) still won't issue a pardon for Barnes. Stark could probably do something about that if he was so inclined.

It's this that drives Clint to look up the three youngest of the Barnes brood - all successful in their own rights, a doctor, an author and a tax attorney - and send their files to Tony. Well to Pepper. She'll get it. Hydra might (or might not) have used Bucky to take Tony's parents but they'd also taken Bucky's family from him. Pepper would understand that and make sure Tony did too.

Clint takes Bucky out to the range - with a whole load of beer and a flask of Thor's special brew this time - to blow off some steam and give Wanda a bit of breathing room. He pulls out the boomerang arrows, he's sure Bucky is the type to appreciate just how awesome an idea they are. And he's right. The fact that Bucky's better at using them than he is - well no-one else needs to know that.

"Can we bring Steve next time?"

"OK." He'll just leave the boomerang arrows at home for that one. "You sure?"

He thought these outings were providing some much-needed breathing room from the well-meaning onslaught of Cap's trips down memory lane. Though maybe it's more of a wilderness trail in Barnes' case.

They're back to blowing the ever-loving crap out of things at this point.

Barnes draws back the bow string and makes a shot that would have Olympic-level archers crying into their quivers. Of course Clint only gets a fraction of a second to appreciate the beauty of the shot before both it and the target are wiped out of existence by an edifying fireball.

Barnes pauses for a moment before answering, as if working out what he actually feels about his own suggestion. "Yeah, we had a discussion. He promised to stop trying to hide difficult stuff from me and I promised to stop hacking the base computer for the information behind his back."

Clint can't help but chuckle. "Guess he didn't know you could do that?"

Barnes fires off another arrow.

"Nope." He pops the 'p' at the exact second the charge explodes.

Show-off.

He fires again. Clint's noticed that the kid tends to find it easier to talk about the hard stuff if his mind's somewhat occupied doing something else at the same time. Clearly he's working up to something here. Clint just hopes they don't run out of targets or arrows before he gets it off his chest. Clint switches back to regular arrows to make sure.

"He handed over the file that Stark sent him. About Howard and Maria. There's a mission report that says I was deployed in the States at that time. And an interview with a Hydra agent who claims it was me."

"There are 50 states and that agent could've just been trying to stick-it to Cap and Tony." Even Clint knows he's reaching but reasonable doubt is still the legal be all and end all after all.

Bucky stops and lowers the bow, arrow still nocked."It was before my identity was public knowledge and he wasn't high enough up the Hydra food chain to know. But thanks."

He re-draws and releases.

There's not much Clint can say to that so he simply gets back to the shooting.

They arrive back on base to find out that Pepper did get the message through to Stark, to the extent that Tony's actually there, in person, waiting for them. Along with Natasha. Though the second he and Bucky enter her body language screams the fact that she's about to make her exit. Oh she still manages to make it look casual. I mean no-one could blame her for wanting to avoid the probably awkward and potentially painful scene that's likely to play out between Stark Junior and the former Winter Soldier right? She even greets Barnes as she goes past and pauses to give Clint a hug.

"Nat whatever this is sort it out." It's whispered directly in her ear so that even Barnes' advanced hearing wouldn't be able to pick up on what he's said.

She shoots him a quizzical look and he can't tell if she's acting or if he's actually a step-ahead of her for potentially the first time ever. He'd almost doubt himself if she didn't stop on the way out to stare daggers at Bucky's back. Ah, young(ish) love.

Stark's doing that 'pay attention to me' thing he does. Though disturbingly without actually saying anything this once. It's freaky. Barnes looks ready to bolt, but he's holding himself together long enough to face whatever it is that Stark is clearly building up to throw his way. It's painful to watch. Hopefully Wanda isn't in the blast radius when this angst bomb goes off.

"So, Buckaroo. Turns out that the general consensus is that I live in a glass house - well a glass tower to be exact - and I shouldn't be throwing shit around. This doesn't mean we're good. All this means is I can't cope with Capsicle and Scarlett O'Hara giving me sad face 24/7. And you know, Pepper said - stuff. You do not get pool privileges. And I NEED to see that arm, up-close in a lab-type environment before we're even orbiting okay. You get me?"

Bucky looks thrown. Stark's still pacing. Clint starts to worry he's going to have to try something mature and adult-like here. He usually leaves that to Laura.

"All right." Barnes response is clearly unexpected - to him and Tony both. "The arm, I'll let you work on it."

Stark looks at him sceptically. "You'll need to come to New York, what will Cap think about that?"

Colonel Rhodes and Sam enter the room, well sort of half-enter - not that the other two seem to notice.

"He'll be fine with it."

It's the most self-assured Clint's heard Bucky in a while. He lets off a little internal cheer.

At times like this, the fact that this 'kid' was a WWII special ops Sergeant smacks him firmly between the eyes.

"Great. Glad we got that sorted. I'll try and make sure security doesn't shoot you on sight." Stark's idea of an apology is not most people's idea of an apology.

The two men are stood there awkwardly watching each other until Sam saves the day by telling Barnes that Steve needs him. Bucky gratefully makes for the exit and the tension levels finally drop to something just below mortifying. Rhodes and Wilson wander into the centre of the room to join Stark.

Clint wonders if there's anyway to avoid joining the Avenger huddle that wouldn't make him look like a complete dick. Sadly, he concludes there isn't. It's not that he doesn't like Tony. He just finds that a little of him goes a long way. Especially now that he's mostly responsible for Clint's home address being a matter of official record. Yeah, he's still not okay with that.

Well if Clint has to step up to the plate he's going to come in swinging.

"So you finally done torturing the PTSD-riddled war hero young enough to be your son?"

Rhodes flinches on his friend's behalf."Ouch. Hit to Hawkeye." He doesn't seem to be leaping to Stark's defence on this one though.

The billionaire industrialist doesn't take it too badly however. "Yeah well what can I say. Wouldn't want to become predictable you know. Been there, done that. Anyway looks like Natasha has tagged in. It's enough to make me almost feel sorry for the guy."

Clint snorts.

Sam raises an eyebrow "Why, do you know something we don't?"

"The answer to that is almost always going to be yes Sambo."

"Hey, nicknames are my thing. Clint's taking my things Rhodey, make him stop."

"Shut up Tony, I want to hear this. Hawkeye, you know what's going on there?"

He respects James Rhodes but his insistence on calling Clint by his codename is getting a little grating.

"Yeah, War Machine, I do."

Rhodes gives him a look that clearly shows he got the point there.

"And...? Come on Barton, time is money. A lot of money in my case." Tony's getting impatient, this could be fun.

"Yeah speaking of money, the security upgrades on the farm didn't come cheap, want to put your money where you motor-mouth is Stark?"

"Oooh, Legolas is getting feisty. OK Barton what's the bet?"

Clint smirks. "A grand says that Tasha jumps Barnes' bones within the month."

Various howls of derision follow.

Even a mutter of "No way is that likely" comes from Sam. Guess his inability to read those type of signals explains why a guy as all-around-awesome as Sam Wilson is still single.

"You are so on my friend." Stark holds out a hand to shake Barton's. "The guy might have had game back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, but right now basic grooming seems beyond him so there's no way Romanoff is into that even if he hadn't tried to kill her multiple times."

Clint takes Tony's hand and seals the bargain.

He looks at Sam and Rhodes "Gents, you in?"

Rhodes gives Tony a searching look before nodding his agreement and holding out his hand to make it official. "Sure I'll take some of that action." The deal is sealed. "I don't know Natasha as well as you guys, but I'm pretty sure those looks she's been giving him aren't meant to say 'come take me'."

Clint rolls his eyes. He knows Natasha's been in Avengers co-leader mode for a while, but have they forgotten she's a spy? And an emotionally screwed-up one at that? Hell she's godmother to his kids and she'll barely admit to liking Clint most of the time.

"Wilson?" He feels a little bad about dragging Sam into this but clearly fly-boy needs a bit of a re-education.

"Honestly I think Cap jumping Barnes is more likely, but I'm going to choose discretion as the better part of valour on this one."

That gets laughs all round, but from the look on Wilson's face Clint thinks he may be more than half-serious. God he hopes he's around when Cap hears that, his reaction's going to be YouTube worthy. Best keep it away from Barnes though, he's a little too fragile still to have the rock of his and Steve's friendship de-stabilised in any way by a faulty gaydar.

Anyway, it's time for him to head back home. Wanda's promised to talk to someone else if this weird ultra-empathy thing with Barnes doesn't fade away in the next few days, and he has science projects to help build and some quality Daddy-daughter time owing to him. He'll leave this group of big kids to sort themselves out.

And he's back. Less than 72 hours later Clint's dumping his overnight bag on the Avengers 'guest-bed that's permanently on-hold for him' because he got a 911 from Fury that Tasha's mission has gone south thanks to the photostatic-veil, face-changer-thingy shorting out and allowing her to be recognised. She'd managed to get out thank god, and Clint had been able to sneak in during the confusion and grab the last of the intel she had been after.

The fact that she'd stayed in that long despite her disguise being compromised only made sense to Clint once he'd looked at what she was after. It was information on Lukin. Shit.

Clearly the whole Russian connection to the crap Barnes went through during the 'Civil War' shenanigans had hit her where she lived.

If he knew Nat - and boy did he know Nat - he had at least another hour of her shaking her tail and taking a few precautionary detours, despite the fact that a fair few people knew where the base was located now - watch-lists and all. Then she'd head straight for the kitchen.

He gives it a good 40 minutes during which he goes and places a sensor on Nat's most likely entry-point, and then he goes to hunt-down his target.

While it's sadly unsurprising to Clint that Barnes is awake, his location is a bit of a turn-up for the books. He's left the self-imposed isolation of his quarters and is for a change in plain view, sitting on the couch and staring out the main window of the common room. Sure he's unlikely to run into anyone at this time of night, but it's not impossible. For the kid that's practically being sociable.

"Hey Bucky-boy. You good to talk?" He has a way he'd like this to go but he's not going to force it if the kid is having a bad night.

"Yeah actually. Maybe you can give me some advice?"

Clint almost felt himself welling up. This was serious progress.

He took a seat in the armchair opposite. It put his back to the door but - unlike Cap and Barnes - he wasn't too worried about the base being attacked, not with FRIDAY, Stark-tech and Pym-tech guarding their six, but he knew it would make Bucky more comfortable. Even if the guy did trust him, it was still only so-far.

"How can I make things all right with Natasha?"

"Why do you think something's wrong?"

Bucky gives him an 'are you shitting me?' look that screams of the Brooklyn boy he used to be.

Clint sighs "OK you got me there. Look Tasha could model for the dictionary definition of evasive, just call her out before she has the chance to slip off again and apologise. Women always like that." Except Nat, Nat will hate it. He's kind of counting on that.

His phone vibrates letting him know she's on her way in. "Look why don't you go grab us a couple of drinks and I'll catch you up on happenings at Chez Barton. If that doesn't help you sleep, I don't know what will."

Well actually Clint hopes he does know. If he's got his meddling right. Laura would most definitely approve he thinks.

Bucky's a good kid so of course he nods and heads off to the kitchen and Clint quickly gets up and retreats to a safe distance.

He's sat in his own room wondering if he should send someone in to the kitchen to search for bodies when he hears a commotion in the corridor. And then a distinctly Natasha-like scream that simultaneously makes him give Bucky a mental high-five and feel slightly squicked-out - it is Tasha after all.

When he hears Cap arrive, he heads out to see if he needs to run interference. Sam's doing a decent job but he's trying to keep everything under wraps and it's a tad unfair in Clint's books if Steve is the only one who doesn't know what's going on with his best friends. Hell, the two of them are going to need all the support they can get. And, bonus points, it might show Sam the error of his 'Steve-hearts-Bucky'-thinkin' ways.

OK, so maybe Sam's a bit too tired to pick-up on the awesome truth and enlightenment that Clint is bringing forth, he concludes as the Falcon shuffles rather than soars back to his nest. And Steve's now relaxed enough to be doing the whole straight-man bit he knows Clint loves. He's done his job, and done it well, he thinks as he settles down for the few hours sleep the night still has left in it.

When he gets back to the farm his wife is going to be so proud. She might even let him re-paper the den. As much as he liked the colour, in retrospect the purple might have been a mistake.


	5. Big Brother

AN: It's taken a (looong) while but here it is. Now officially an AU in light of the heart-breaking plot of Civil War, but I think my world is a kinder place than the one the (evil yet wonderful) Russo Brothers and Markus and McFeely have concocted.

This fic now therefore includes some minor elements of Civil War - but let's say that a certain tape went missing from that Siberian bunker, and Bucky's memories of his missions hadn't fully returned - so it was just Zemo's word (and aforementioned Hydra agent's) that Bucky carried out the Starks' deaths. So Tony never totally loses his shit (pardon my language), and has time to rationalise his response and instead helps 'bring in' Steve and Bucky. And Rhodey never gets shot from the sky because WTF? The 'shoot the POW on sight order' discredits Ross 1 and Ross 2, and gives the gang enough leverage to get a house arrest ruling from a sympathetic judge for Bucky, and pardons for the rest of Team Cap. Plus T'Challa speaks in favour of it all (love him), so that gets us to the un-cryogenically-frozen place of team-togetherness this fic inhabits. Russos, Markus, McFeely, Feige, the make up scene between Bucky and Tony better be Oscar-worthy - that's all I'm saying.

* * *

It's 6am and somehow Nat has managed to wriggle her way-with numerous half-conscious kisses and caresses impeding her progress-out of her room and away from the unanticipatedly cuddly delights of a post-coital supersoldier, and is finally making her way toward the much-needed calories her overtaxed body's now almost audibly crying out for.

And despite desperately wanting to satisfy her primary craving for food, she'll happily admit that in her personal hierarchy of needs, sex is now definitely on a level standing. And hadn't it been a while since that had happened. If ever.

But James is still mostly asleep and she's still mostly worn out. So food it is.

Her eyes are already adapted to the after-hours half-light of the Avengers base, and her familiarity with the layout makes navigating her way from her room at the far end of the residential corridor virtually effortless. But it's only her extensive and highly painful training that stop her from voicing her surprise when she stumbles upon a silent pj-clad Steve Rogers sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. In the dark. Huh.

Clearly supersoldiers getting between her and her sandwich was the theme of this morning. Though she doubts this encounter will be quite as pleasant as the last.

She's assumed he's heard her coming, but after a beat or two of waiting and no words forthcoming, she quietly clears her throat to announce her presence. Still nothing. He doesn't even turn to face her, instead continuing his apparently fascinating contemplation of the counter top. Wait, are those headphones?

Nat walks on soft feet in an approach that allows her to sweep past Steve's beautifully-defined back and snag the cable out of his left ear on her way to the fridge.

Steve almost jumps straight out of his bar seat. "Jesus Christ!"

Natasha can't help the satisfied smile that twitches her lips as she pulls open the icebox door. "Not quite. Morning Steve."

She lifts out one bottle of water before reconsidering and pulling out a second, and turns back just in time to see the half-hearted stink eye Rogers sends her way. He still sucks at lying in both word and deed, so the effect's almost totally negated by the quirk of amusement playing over the left corner of his mouth.

"Morning Nat."

She holds out the water bottle to him as a peace offering, which he takes with an outstretched arm and a nod of thanks, finally dropping his look of exaggerated annoyance for a slightly-tired version of his typical genial expression.

Nat pulls out a replacement water as Steve unscrews the cap on his and takes a drink. She might currently be on a post-orgasm high from the attentions of her tall, handsome, dark and deadly edition of the two resident supersoldiers (and cuddly, she can't forget the cuddly), but you'd have to be made of stone not to be given pause by the sight that a ruffled Steve Rogers made drinking from that condensation covered bottle. Sharon would be a lucky woman if the two of them ever got their act together.

Steve's apparently missed her initial perusal, so she shoots him a follow-up over-the-top look of appreciation to retaliate. Sure enough a pink tinge of embarrassment flushes his cheeks and a bout of uncomfortable throat clearing commences. Good. If they were about to have the conversation she suspects they were about to have she'd prefer him slightly off his game. Not to mention that bashful's a pretty good look on him.

She moves some grapes to one side and starts eyeing up the sandwich filling options. What to have?

Steve clears his throat again, clearly trying to get her attention this time.

Oh well, here goes. It's definitely going to be a first for Nat. Rogers was up to bat, but that didn't mean she wouldn't go down swinging.

She looks back over her shoulder at him, sees him inhale deeply in preparation of whatever he's winding up to say, and so she does the only sensible thing a world class spy can do and sets about deflecting for all she's worth.

She turns and nods towards the high-end headphones and Stark phone now lying on the counter.

"I didn't think you knew what Beats was? Sam?"

Steve looks a little irritated at her (beautifully timed) interruption, but, as she knows all too well, he's far too polite of a person to ignore a question directed his way, especially one from a friend. She can literally see him biting his tongue at the fairly obvious redirect.

"No Wanda got them for me. Sam doesn't rate them, too much bass in the balance or something... Look, Nat..."

"Well they are designed for Hip Hop and Sam's a bit of a soul and RnB purist. They're decent but there are a couple of specialist audio brands who'll give you a little more color in the replay - more like vinyl, but not quite. I can give you some suggestions."

Steve's amused look was back, "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind".

Thank god, she needs to keep this light if she's going to get through it. She pulls out the block of Dutch cheese and plate of sliced turkey from the fridge. And, oh, there's a prepped salad she can raid too. Score. "One of Sam's playlists?"

"No, it's an audiobook about astronauts. Nat..."

"The Martian?" A swing and a miss from the opposition batter. She's starting to understand why American men think about baseball to distract themselves - it's working like a charm for her. Now the question is does James like peppers? Everyone likes peppers don't they? And should she bring him an apple juice or orange juice? She's seen him drink both.

"No, real astronauts. I figured that maybe hearing about the wonders of actual space travel would be enough to keep my focus away from any sounds from down the hall. Buck prefers orange by the way."

And it's a hit. She grabs the bottle of orange juice out of the fridge, closes the door and turns round to face what was likely to be a shovel talk for the ages. It was inevitable she supposed. Not even her best evasion techniques could make Steve ignore the fact that she was currently wearing his best friend's shirt as a nightdress.

"Thanks for the input. So, am I getting a dressing down from the boss over breaking fraternisation regs we don't have? Or is this more a 'hurt him and I'll end you' conversation I've got coming?"

Steve gives her a considering look and raises an eyebrow, "As if I'd ever be able to make good on that threat."

Natasha's game face cracks into a small warm smile at that. Steve's respect for her skills has never been anything other than genuine, despite their disreputable source. "So what did you want to ask?"

She honestly has no idea how this conversation will go now the two standard options have been taken off the table. But Steve was always making her revise her expectations.

Steve looks down at the counter before taking a breath and locking his gaze with her own. "Nat, you're one of the most insightful people I've ever met and also one of the most...reserved..."

He sounds so apologetic when he says it, Nat can't even be bothered to summon up her standard comedic mock-outrage. "Closed-off you mean?"

Steve lets out a little exasperated huff, "You're not, at least not any more anyway, not round us."

She almost wants to dispute it, for her professional pride if nothing else, but she wants to know where this was going more. Plus Steve thinking that, it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

OK, that was enough of a moment, "So...?"

"So, I know how much you're not going to want to answer this question, but I gotta ask because Buck's my family and he's been hurt enough for several lifetimes, and you're my friend, and despite how little you talk about it I know you've been through hell too."

Natasha feels the breath catch in her throat and has to force herself back into normal respiration. Crap, why did she let him impact her this way. Even worse, she suspects that Barnes is going to turn out to be an even bigger threat to her (perfectly healthy thank you very much) repressive tendencies.

"Just spit it out Rogers, I have places to be." Steve's look of discomfort returns, but he's been asking for that one, and unlike some people she's only human.

He gives her his best 'You know what Romanoff?' look before continuing. "Until now those places have been wherever Bucky isn't, or in my office telling me he's too unstable, dangerous, vulnerable, etc to leave the compound never mind go on missions. You even disapproved of him going to Clint's farm. And now 'those places' are my best friend's bed. So, I gotta ask. What's changed?"

There he goes, pulling out the trademark Captain America honesty and hitting a home run. And he didn't even blush this time. She'll be proud of him later, once she's dealt with the dozen other emotions swirling around her gut. She's not even really feeling all that hungry any more.

"Would you accept hormones as an answer?"

Without saying a word Steve manages to convey with his eyes alone exactly how unimpressed he is with her jokey response.

"Geez, tough room. Fine. Just give a girl a bit of time to process."

She's too tired, too hungry, too sore, too relaxed, too scared, too elated, too everything to be Natasha Romanoff right now, so with a deep breath she drops the mask -one she suspects Barnes had seen past almost instantly-and allows Natalia to step forward. She leans against the counter, crosses her arms, contemplates the tiles for a moment and wonders if Steve can tell the difference.

She raises her head to meet his steady and supportive blue gaze. "He was a good guy, back before Hydra got him, wasn't he?"

Steve's brow crinkles at her question but there's no hesitation in his reply. "The best".

She feels Natalia's lips curl up into a rueful smile "And he still is. He's so much better than me, stronger than I ever was, and yet he refuses to see that. And the way he looks at me..."

She can't find the words, but Steve finds them for her.

"Like you hung the moon? Yeah, I've noticed."

She'd give him shit about the old-fashioned phrase if it wasn't so perfect. "God, it was pissing me off."

Steve's eyebrows both shoot up at that. They're going to get a serious workout before she's done.

"You all see me wrong." There the brows went again, coupled with a look of concern. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy about that, you all see me how I want to be, who I might someday manage to be once I've done enough good in the world to start to balance out all the bad. But James knows better. Everything he blames himself for, that he did without choice, I chose. The options may have sucked yes, but I had them to pick between. Yet he thinks I'm worthy of his admiration, his affection even. I kept wanting to punch him in the head to try and knock some sense into him."

Steve was physically biting his lip at that one.

"With Bruce, I'd given up. I was the monster they'd made me and nothing I'd do could change that, so why not run away with someone who still liked me and pretty much felt the same way about themself right?"

Steve was struggling to contain his surprise at her bringing up her ill fated flirtation with Banner. But it was necessary context and Natalia was apparently in a confessional mood.

"Yet along comes this guy, a guy who's pulled the trigger, feels the blood staining his hands, but who deserves war hero, brother and POW written large in his profile way above any mention of assassin, and he even has Captain America as a character reference. He knows what I am Steve, in all its technicolour, first-person glory, and yet he still looks at me like that. Like I really can be that person, The Avenger. Once I got over being angry at him for making me feel inadequate, I had to admit to myself how desperately I wanted that. And well here we are. And I'm pretty sure I'll fight to the death to keep it."

Steve's expression is strained, and the glassiness of held-back tears is softening the too-emotional look he's giving her even further. Natalia's throat tightens. It's time for her to go. Natasha turns back and pulls the fridge open with possibly more force than is required, pulling out the bowl of salad, and some hummus and mayo, before (softly) closing the door.

"Want a turkey salad sandwich?" She digs the pre-sliced French bloomer out of the well-stocked bread bin.

"Nat, I-", she turns around brandishing the chef's knife she's just pulled from the wooden block to cut up the cheese. He takes the hint, "Yes. Thank you."

She knows the thank you is about more than just the snack. She nimbly portions out the cheese into thin even slices. She'd make a good chef, lord knows she has the knife skills. "Two okay?" She knows how much he has to eat but often foolishly doesn't.

"Yeah, that would be good thanks."

She pulls out bread for six sandwiches, luckily they buy the large size of everything, even loaves. Now that her insides have stopped somersaulting she can probably get through at least one and a half and she's sure James won't have too much difficulty finishing off the rest.

She's familiar enough with Steve's food preferences now after a few years of living and working together that she assembles his almost as quickly as she would her own. Well, as she typically would her own. Now that she's decided on sharing it with James suddenly his preferences seem more important than hers. She prefers hummus over mayo; she has no idea what James likes other than her and chocolate. He has a pretty serious sweet tooth. And apparently they also have a shared love of raisin bread to fall back on. She needs more intel. And to not have something as simple as a god-dammed sandwich throw her off.

This is why she's always kept her personal relationships as simple and select as she has. Her life's already complicated enough. She can hear Steve fidgeting with his water bottle behind her, clearly considering if he should say something about the fact she's frozen mid-build.

Well if you can't go to the source..."Does he like hummus?"

Steve stops playing with his bottle cap and looks unexpectedly upset. "I don't know, it wasn't exactly something we were able to get growing up and I don't know if he's ever tried it. I used to know everything about him, and now I don't even really know which out of the two of us is the older."

Nat puts the knife down and turns around to properly face him rather than continue to glance at him over her shoulder. "Does it matter?"

Steve picks at the bottle label and shrugs. "All things considered it probably shouldn't, but it does."

Nat, of all people, knows how important it is to have some certainties to hold on to. "He is, still. Just. I've compiled a time line of all his missions from the Hydra data I've decrypted. They amount to under a year of active duty, but the Russians also seemed to like using him for training other agents on occasion, so there are a few instances where he was out of the ice for a few weeks at a time. Your age gap was about a year and four months, you were out of the ice for around two years before he was bought out to deal with Fury, and a near as I can tell he's been awake for around 13 months over the last seven decades. So he's still your big brother, it's just a little closer than it was."

The smile he sends her way is pained but grateful and lasts only a moment as his mind registers the other aspects of what she's just said. "Training missions other than those supersoldiers in 1991. Who? And when?"

"The who and where were heavily redacted, I'm hoping James can fill in the gaps." Steve looks unhappy at the prospect but resigned to the necessity of it.

The 'when' of a few of these missions has given her pause, but if James had been used by the Red Room she would have known. The dates closely coinciding with her own advanced training and graduation had to be nothing more than coincidence. His memory might still be a bit of a jigsaw, but she's pieced hers painfully back together and has the complete if bloody picture, she's certain. But not too certain to not ask questions. And she would, but not today.

"So how does James feel about mayo and peppers?"

Steve's frown lightens without totally disappearing. "Not a fan of the first and as for the second, see above re hummus."

She salutes Steve with the knife before deciding to add the sliced peppers and hummus to her own so James can try them out and leaves them off the other two. Worst comes to worst she can probably finish off that half.

She loads up Steve's two helpings in a double stack on a plate and places it in front of him on the counter. Steve nods his thanks and carefully picks up the triangle closest to him and pauses, watching her heap the remaining sandwiches on two more plates and tuck the two, now only slightly-chilled drinks bottles under her arm, before collecting up the food to finally return to her room.

Steve purposely catches her attention as she's about to head past, "You know, he's not exactly keen on being called James either."

It's said in that teasing tone of Steve's she's come to know and love, but no way is she going to leave that one just lying there. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that with the circumstances I'm calling him that working in my favour, I'll get him to love being called James."

Steve half chokes on the swig of water he's just taken. Sometimes he's still so innocent.

"I mean James just sounds so good when it's being screamed..."

"Nat please stop." Steve's face was rapidly going a shade of red that would put her hair to shame.

"That's not what he said." Steve lets out a groan.

Come on, that was hilarious on so many levels. This was too much fun to stop now.

"Natasha please, I'm begging you." Steve was equal parts mortified and amused by the looks of him - she could improve on that.

"Now that was definitely something he said." Steve's head hits the counter with an audible thunk.

"Just go please."

Natasha salutes as much as she's able to with the plates still in her hands even though he can't see it, and gives her fearless yet easily embarrassed leader a smart 'Sir, yes Sir', before heading into the hallway. On the threshold she turns back to Steve who's still splayed over the marble counter top. "Oh you might want to stay put and take in the next chapter or five of that book you're listening to for the next hour or so. Two tops."

He lifts his hand to give her a two fingered wave of acknowledgement and reaches for his ear buds without raising his head. Steve Rogers was a lot of fun, she'll use her bites on anyone who says differently.

She gleefully walks down the long, featureless corridor towards her room at the far end and towards the singular man who's ripped her carefully-constructed barriers to shreds. She plans to return the favour imminently, with his clothes as her primary target.

Nat stops in front of her door. Anyone looking on would assume it's to figure out the logistics of opening her door with no free hands, but that isn't it.

"How much of that did you hear?"

James emerges fully-formed from the almost non-existent shadows of the hallway. Nat would love to pretend she knew exactly where he'd concealed himself but at best it would be an educated guess. The small, complicated smile on his heart-stopping lips makes her professional envy all but evaporate. "Enough."

He takes the plates from her so she can initiate the finger print scan and open the door to her quarters. The second they're both through he door she claims back the plates, places them and the drinks on the first suitable surface, and shoves him hard against the nearest wall. He looks upset for all of one second, until she presses her warm and pliant body firmly against his and short-circuits the fight or flight reaction she sees coming and should really have known to expect. She hopes he can read her apology in the literally breath-taking kiss she lays on him. All her training, and his, focused on not telegraphing their movements, it's going to be a hard habit to break.

The heat of his mouth's intoxicating, his breath carrying just the hint of something sweet that she hadn't noticed before, and if she were in the slightest bit artistically inclined she'd already be composing sonnets to the things this man can do with his tongue. And dear god, was she looking forward to exploring the full range of that particular talent as soon as humanly possibly. She pulls away from his lips to grab a few necessary, panting breaths, her open mouth still pressed to his jaw, refusing to disconnect, her torso flush to his, her breathing outpacing his, but at least her lower half was still willing to obey her, her right leg pressing between the two of his and her thigh exerting a perfectly judged amount of upwards pressure against his groin. Well maybe not perfectly judged. She increases the pressure and bites and sucks gently on the strong tendons where neck and shoulder meet. The strangled sound and shudder combination this gifts her make her reconsider her grading system yet again. She's at least going to need a top 10.

She dives in for another combative kiss, before braking from his lips just long enough to trace a searing path along his strong jaw and sun-deprived, alabaster skin. "I brought food."

"I saw." He wraps his flesh fingers into her locks and tugs up just hard enough to encourage her to expose the full length of her own neck to him, one of her most vulnerable spots, and she more than willingly cooperates. The thrill of allowing someone this deadly that much access to her person is almost as much of a turn on as the sensory delights of soft lips skilfully playing symphonies across all her erogenous zones. She knows he's a sniper but still, wow.

Natasha gasps for air, and this time when she rolls her hips across his it's more about her own gratification than his as overwhelming want overrides most of her higher brain functions. And as this means that suddenly both her legs are now gripping his waist, her scorching centre pressed demandingly against his hard shaft she doubts he'll complain.

She nods, realising it's been too long of a delay between words uttered for this to be now really be considered a conversation. "Food after."

James nods his agreement, strands of hair already adhering to his face due to sweat, "OK." And then whatever sense they had left to the pair of them goes out the window. Nat's preciously guarded sense of time and place warps and melts to a singularity of addictive sensation. And oh god, they're in the bed, they're beautifully naked and he's kissing down her stomach and not stopping, his mouth traces over her pubic bone and his tongue parts her lips, diving into her core, and oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, don't stop, please don't stop, yes, yes, god more, there, there, right there, perfect, can you even breath?, now I can't breath, oh god, oh god, oh god, James, James, James, JAMES, "JAMES! Fuck!".

Her climax washes over her and she's left a sweaty, trembling, over-stimulated mess as Barnes kisses his way back up her stomach looking wholly satisfied with himself. "Well at least I remember how to do that."

She opens her mouth for what she was certain was meant to be an ego moderating jest, but all that comes out is an elated giggle. That couldn't be her, right? He nussels his almost perfect nose into the inside of her heaving breasts and the final vestiges of her exceptionally rational mind pack up their bags and leave. She takes several rapid panting breathes before forcing out her first pre-selected words in the last 15 minutes. "More please."

She can feel his smile against her skin, it's like a call to arms, she needs this, it's a sense of completeness she's never found in any mission or calling. God he could be the end of her, but at this very moment she can't seem to care. His nose, lips and locks of damp, dark hair trace an unerring path back to her centre but Nat's earlier desires stir her to action and she tangles her fingers through his unexpectedly thick chestnut tresses and guides his head back up to the level of her own. This might make her a sadist admittedly, but she's also admittedly a bit of a control freak, so as she halts what would undoubtedly be a mind-blowing round two, she's driven by a more pressing desire. He follows her lead so beautifully that she barely has to exert any force to get him on his back beneath her and lying perfectly still as she repeats his actions from just moments ago. Kissing his sternum and continuing down his impeccably sculpted abs until she presses a soft kiss to the tip of his fully-erect dick and gets a full-body shudder in response. She looks up through her expertly curled and tinted eyelashes to find those normally pale, steel blue eyes, irises compressed to vivid colour by the involuntary expansion of his blown-out, pitch black pupils, fixed on her every action, as she opens her mouth and without warning takes in as much of his length as she's able to. The full-body convulsion that follows drives him further into her throat than she's anticipated, but she adapts quickly, hollowing her cheek, pressing up her tongue and using just the slightest touch of pressure with her teeth as she raises her head up, quickly employing her hands to caress any part of him that might be feeling neglected upon her withdrawal, before diving in eagerly once again. His shocked gasp is everything she hoped it would be.

God, she could do this all day, or at least until her jaw starts to protest. She draws back up, applying pressure with her lips and with the flat of her tongue to the sensitive under-side of his erection. Fingers, both flesh and metal are entangled in her hair but he's exerting enough control not to grab on. That wouldn't do. Natasha raises her head up and swirls her tongue around his decidedly sensitive head before reaching back with both hands to apply a gentle pressure to his balls and a firm thumb to his perineum. She can't explain why she's gone for this rather heavy-handed approach, but she just knows it will do the job and somehow also knows it won't ruin the rest of their morning. Without any empirical data what so ever to back it up, she's totally convinced that she can make him explode and still get taken to church by him shortly after.

Bucky, no James, flaps a hand at her, "Nat no, I'm going to...you need to stop." She pauses for a second. From what she's seen so far she's assumed he was sexually experienced in most things, but she's not bothered to actually ask, yet seeing him coming to pieces above her she decides then and there that that simply doesn't matter. Experienced in one aspect doesn't mean experienced in all and she's determined to give as good as she gets. And damn was it good. This now is more for her than it is for him and so she dives back in, deep-throating him and applying yet more pressure with thumb and fingers. With a strangled yelp he's surrendering to her, releasing hot and bitter spendings that she quickly swallows down and follows up with caresses and kisses to his still half-hard shaft as he gasps for air in the aftermath. Her hand quickly joins her lips, and the doubled focus does just what she's anticipated, bringing him back to full attention in just a few well-timed strokes. "Well isn't that nifty."

He looks far more surprised at his body's response than she is, and that's not going to do either of them any good, so she enthusiastically distracts him by reaching up to capture his lips for a long, slow, sweet kiss as she returns to her favourite position of being fully impaled on his lap.

Their joint groans are borderline obscene and entice another rush of pleasure that builds on that already emanating from where her body grinds against his. She uses her expert muscle control to rise and fall and squeeze until he's as much of a gasping, quivering wreck as he'd just made her, until the strangled words "Natasha please," make her relent and she cedes control back to him and then promptly looses her mind.

He withdraws, making her feel momentarily bereft, before he flips her over and plunges determinedly back in, literally balls deep, and proceeds to hit her in the proverbial bulls eye, with, each, and every, single, superhuman, thrust of his hips, while his mouth moves with purpose and precision over her breasts and neck.

Oh f&*ki%g*c*#t*n^hell this wasn't sex, it was some divine torture formulated to reduce her to a useless, needy, forever-distracted wreck of a once-feared super spy. She claws at his back as he thrust in and somehow hits her sweet spot again and again. God she doesn't care, about her reputation, about any of it, just let her keep him. God please, please let her keep him this time. She feels inexplicable tears gathering in the corner of her eyes and an irresistible building of sensation and pressure until she's once again screaming his name as lights explode behind her eyelids.

She feels his cock pulse inside her as his release quickly follows her own. It's glorious. But just moments later she feels him still and his body tense even as his face comes to rest against her collar bone, his deep breaths tickling her skin. She swipes away the wetness gathering at the corner of her eyes with the heel of her hand before he has time to notice. "So who's Yasha?"

What? She doesn't realise she's saying it out loud until he repeats himself in the same level tone. "Who's Yasha?"

It feels like he's talking in another language until she realises he is, hers. "It's Russian for James. Well as close as we get anyway. I thought you'd know that one."

"Oh, right." He sounds embarrassed. How that's possible after he's made her scream like that she can't understand.

She strokes his now sweat-soaked hair away from his lovely face and turns it towards her, "Do you prefer that to James?" He looks at her with an uncertain but considering expression in his eyes, as if the diminutive already has some hold over him. Natasha won't stand for that, she has points to prove. "Well tough luck, I don't care if you do, I'm still calling you James, because that's your actual name."

His eyes flash and his lips do something best described as borderline illegal as he leans over her and captures her mouth in an indulgent, drawn out kiss, "Whatever you say Natalia".

Shit she's so far gone she should probably pay up to Clint along with the others. Considering the circumstances he might actually accept the cash as well. Though she'll still be getting the better end of the deal.

He shakes off the uncertainty that descended when she christened him with the (never to be used again. And where had it even come from?) Russian pet name and shoots her a look which she can only imagine is one of the traits that made Bucky Barnes the popular guy he was reported to be around 1940s Brooklynn. "How about I make you forget your own name as well as mine?"

"I'd say you have yourself a deal Sergeant." A delightfully playful kiss is his response and it's almost enough to deter her from the momentary lapse of judgement, or return to sanity, whatever you want to call it, that makes her finally put her figurative foot down. "After we've had something to eat."

Only the now audible grumbling of her stomach and the sympathetic rumblings of his own prevent him from protesting. She climbs out of the bed, and unabashedly strides out to collect their makeshift picnic in all her unclothed glory. When she hands the plate of sandwiches over to him, she's certain it's not just the food putting that hungry look in his eyes.

He virtually inhales the two she's made for him, and gulps down the juice, so she passes him over the half of hers she's reserved for this very reason, along with the second water, and watches as he takes a small exploratory bite, before he clearly decides he's okay with the flavour combination and sets about consuming it almost as fast as he did the first.

Natasha's never found watching someone eat interesting before, off-putting is more like it, but now she's engrossed as opposed to her usual grossed-out. She wants to memorise every quirk and gesture he makes and every habit he has. Do other people feel like this or is it just her training coming out to play to help her normalise these new, strange circumstances?

But this isn't the spider watching her prey, this is pure fascination. It helps that he's a tidy eater. But not tidy enough to avoid a trace of hummus painting the corner of his mouth before he finishes. She clears the plates away and finds herself reaching out a hand and wiping the mark slowly away with her thumb as he swallows his last mouthful. And eyes locked with his she slowly and gently pushes her thumb against his lips until he grants it entrance to his mouth, and the caresses of his tongue sweep it clean. The sensation travels straight to her core and she can tell by the focused look in his eyes that he's noticed her reaction. She withdraws her thumb just enough to sweep it over his kiss bruised lips and kneels up exposing herself fully to his gaze, which drops downwards to the visibly-growing dampness between her thighs. She stills her thumb, applying a gentle downward pressure to that sinful lip, telling him without words 'this is mine now' and leans forwards, bringing her own mouth up to breath hotly into his ear. She's not touching him at any other point despite the fact that his cock is once against standing proud and practically begging her to reach out and take a firm hold. She inches forwards slowly until her lips are almost caressing the shell of his ear before whispering in her most seductive tone "So, did you like the hummus then?"

"What?"

The painfully turned on confusion present in his voice and expression are enough to make her break character and giggles are welling up despite her best efforts to quell them. "The sandwich. Did the hummus do it for you?" The laughter is starting to spill out now, she can't fight it.

"The sandwich."

The look he gives her's so deadpan it breaks through the last reserves of her will power, and she's doubling over in her amusement. But he's not laughing with her. Maybe she's misjudged this one?

She looks up just in time to confirm that yes, she has made a mistake, but it was looking away. The wicked gleam in his eye is all the warning she gets before he's pouncing on her and everything else becomes an unfocused blur, as her giggles transform to groans, and her world and awareness become solely centred around the touch of his hands and the captivating and changeable blue of his eyes.

Notes: Please point out any errors. Save me some work. And the next (and last?), already written chapter will be up shortly. *In case you were wondering about the 13 month bit. In CA:TWS Nat tells us he's credited with over 2 dozen assassinations over 50 years. So clearly they had to wait for Zola to be freed and to perfect the control process, so he probably didn't get used for a mission until the late 50s or early 60s. Add to that that his mind starts to repair itself to the extent that the WS techs tell Pierce that Bucky's been out of Cryofreeze too long after just a handful of days, then we're saying that missions probably needed to be restricted to 2 or 3 days each tops. Even adding in a heck of a lot of uncredited kills and 'accidents', and time for experiments (sob) it's unlikely that Bucky's seen all that much daylight since 1944. *


	6. Tipping Point

The final chapter of this tale. What better way to end it than by hearing from Bucky ;).

Thanks for all the support with this fic. You've all made my writers' block worth struggling through. And if you want more Bucky then please feel free to check out my other stories. He tends to feature quite heavily...

* * *

Bucky's drawn back to reality, and out of the Natasha-centric haze he's been happily basking in by an insistent and incessant beeping. What the hell...?

Natasha groans beneath him and annoyingly this time it's not from the motion of his fingers that are still happily buried deep inside her, stroking and soothing her as she comes down from her latest orgasm. He doesn't even care any more that they're his metal ones, Nat's managed to drive that hang-up right out of him in almost no time flat. She seems to like them, even if he doesn't.

"It's my alarm clock, can you spot it?" She waves a hand, gesturing towards the bed from their current spot on the floor. "It was on the side table, but, you know..."

He doesn't until he looks over and sees that the aforementioned side table is now on its side. He spots the blinking lights of a digital alarm clock flashing 8:15 over by the skirting board across the floor, and points it out to her while he takes in the state of the rest of the room. It's a wreck. He doesn't even honestly remember how they ended up on the floor again, but at least they'd managed to grab the sheet now draped over them on their way down this time. That was nice. His eyelids fall half-closed as she eases herself off his fingers and snuggles in closer to his chest. "I think we broke your lamp."

Nat picks up a book that's just in reach and hurls it from her prone position at the still-blaring time piece, and misses. She snorts, "Screw the lamp, I think we broke me". He opens his eyes again fully and looks down to see if she's being serious, and automatically starts scanning her for injuries, focusing in on the series of rapidly darkening bruises now littering the pale skin of her arms. She must catch the concern in his eyes as her hand instantly rises up to capture the side of his face and redirect his eyes to her own. "Hey you didn't hurt me." She gifts him that sweet, crooked smile of hers. "You should see yourself mister," she traces the fingers of her other hand over what he assumes is a fairly impressive hicky on his collar bone if the slight sting he feels across his skin is any indication, "I think I won this round".

She drops the arm down in order to prop her head up and enable herself to look past him, but instantly picks up the gentle caresses with the thumb of the hand still resting on his cheek as she gazes over his shoulder. "I think the wall got the worst of it though."

Oh yes, the wall, that's how they'd ended up down here. His legs had temporarily given out after she'd slammed him against it and ridden him so hard he'd almost blacked-out. No wonder it was all a little hazy.

He gently gathers her hand in his own, lifting it so that he can roll onto his back and see what she's seeing. There's an unmissable dent in the dry wall, not to mention a huge web of cracks radiating out from the impact zone. "Crap."

Natasha repositions herself on top of him with her chin resting gently on his chest so she can look down at him. He wonders what she sees. "I don't suppose Hydra put anything as useful as home repair in that head of yours did they?"

He pauses, pretending to think deeply about it "Nope. Murder, infiltration, 12 or 13 languages, assorted martial arts and, weirdly, origami, but no dry-walling. Maybe I can get a refund."

She laughs and he finds himself joining in. Joking about his programming wasn't something he'd known he was capable of until this very moment. It felt wonderful. Not, getting his brains fucked out by the beautiful woman on top of him wonderful, but a pretty close second. The things she did to him.

He should really be fighting for every scrap of self-determination he can get his mismatched hands on, what with having gone from being a virtual wind-up murder machine for the past 70-odd years, to now being a glorified prisoner who's fate was currently being hashed out by some top secret tribunal of world leaders and legal experts, but he thinks he'd pretty much do anything Natasha asked of him.

It's a little warped, but then again so is he now.

He's still not the leading authority on his own abnormally long and destructive life, that'd be Steve, but he's pretty sure he's never felt this way about anyone, ever. Not before the war, and after, well from what he can remember, that sort of emotion wasn't something they allowed him to be capable of. He has some vague memories of being shoved into the chair at the slightest sign that he'd advanced to thinking anything far beyond point, shoot, kill.

He doubts there's anything even vaguely pleasant hiding away in those burned out synapses of his brain. It's why he's not trying as hard as he maybe should be to speed up his recall, as much as he knows his glaring memory gaps pain Steve, and that they could harm his defence if and when he needs one. He's even stopped taking the supplements the psychiatrists and doctors have forced on him. They'll come back, the memories, given time he knows. Every excruciating detail of them, thanks to the fabulous recall that was also part and parcel of Hydra's unwanted gift.

Return to sender please.

"Oh Jesus Christ!" The world's leaders shouldn't worry about having to deal with him, at this rate Natasha and his own libido will finish him off before they've even agreed a location for his trial. She's just performed a full-body stretch while lying right on top of him, and while he thought he was done for the day his dick obviously disagrees. It's apparently trying to make up for 70 years of inaction all in one go. And, as Natasha wriggles so that his rapidly rising erection slips snugly between her toned thighs, it's clear who's side she's on.

She smirks at him. "You were moping."

He tries to look offended but it's almost impossible to do when she's now oh so slowly rocking up and down on top of him, causing her wet heat to just ever so slightly begin to envelope him before pulling off after just the barest of contact. "I was not moping."

His half-hearted protests evaporate as she spreads her legs marginally wider so that the tip of him slips right into her unfathomably hot and tight entrance and all he can do for the moment is gasp. He doesn't know what he's done to deserve the incredible woman currently driving him crazy, but it must have been something damn good in a past life, because it sure as hell wasn't anything he's done in this one.

She places a gentle kiss over his rapidly beating heart. "Yes," another one on his sternum, "you," and then he shudders as sharp teeth unexpectedly latch on to his left nipple, "were". And before he has time to respond she's pressed her whole body down until he's buried in her up to the hilt. He's gone, almost. He finds enough coherence to gasp out "Again? Are you sure? Broken?"

She laughs again and it's a beautiful sound. "Not that broken. And you're clearly good to go. But let's do this slow and easy huum? Or else I might really pull something." She's up on her knees and bracing herself on his shoulders for leverage as she starts a leisurely circular motion that grinds her clit against his pubic bone and drives them both slowly to distraction. He's so captivated by the view of her moving above him, scarlet locks in disarray, soft, full, rounded breasts crying out for his touch, that he doesn't even react to the knock that suddenly makes her cease all proceedings.

She dips down and gives him an almost incongruous peck on the lips. "Hold that thought." And the next moment she's pulling up and away, leaving him feeling bereft and then totally exposed as she stands up wrapping her self in the sheet as she continues towards the door. It takes him a moment to register that she's actually going to open it, with him bare as the day he was born in direct line of sight behind her. "Shit!"

He has all of two seconds to scramble and vault behind the bed before the door draws back revealing Wanda. Only his enhanced reflexes have saved her from viewing the full monty. Yet leaning unabashedly in the doorway, draped fetchingly in her stolen sheet, Natasha somehow still manages to look totally composed and decidedly dangerous. She's evil, he's glad he's learning this now.

"Hey Wanda, what can I do you for?" she asks the rapidly blushing and honestly terrifying young woman. The fact that she could pin The Winter Soldier to the floor with her mind is probably the main reason Steve had managed to get him under his current 'house arrest'. More horrifyingly he likes the kid. This was worse than his sisters walking in on him and a date...Oh fuck, he had sisters. How did he forget that.

He's mostly tuned out of the conversation Nat and Wanda are having just feet away as images of dark-haired, vivacious girls explode into his mind. Three sisters. He'd braided their hair for fuck's sake. The name Becca came to him instantly, but the other two he couldn't recall and damn if that didn't hurt.

"Bucky, are you okay?"

It's Wanda's distinctive, velvety eastern European lilt that drags him out of his newly recovered memories.

He throws up a hand so it's visible above the bed and offers what he hopes is a jaunty wave "I'm good Wanda, thanks." He can do blasé.

"Okay." She doesn't sound convinced, but Natasha starts discussing some rescheduled munitions training session and they wrap it up between them without asking for any more of his very, very, naked input.

Nat closes the door and returns to stand above him for a moment, the sheet making her look more Greek goddess than dishevelled, and everything's forgiven. She gazes down at him, all patience and compassion, a vision of sex and fire, and simply says "Anything you want to tell me?"

He tries to keep it together, he really does, but as he forces out the words "Turns out I have three sister, had three sisters", his voice cracks and the sobs that have been building in his chest surge forwards and suddenly he's falling to pieces.

The make-shift gown billows around her as it falls to the floor only a moment ahead of the rest of her as she gathers him into her embrace. Cradling his head against her chest. "Oh James, I'm so, so sorry."

He doesn't deserve it, but god does he need it. He grasps onto her with all his strength and soaks in every ouch of compassion this incredible woman is willing to send his way. And he needs to tell her. He bites back on the tears and impatiently swipes away the ones currently forming. "Nat, thank you. I heard what you said to Steve," she tries too shush him but he won't be stopped. "You're brilliant, you're compassionate, you're too damn caring for your own good. Powerful, daring, funny as hell, loyal, fierce. Indescribably sexy," he tried to flash her an equally sexy grin as he said that, but knew it was lacking a little in the delivery, "you're -".

She looks at him and lowers herself to straddle his waist. He's no longer quite up to the challenge of continuing on from where they left off, but if she minds at all she doesn't let on. "You forgot beautiful." She says it with a strange, fixed half smile on her face.

"That goes without saying", he means it, beautiful used to be top of his list but she's made it seem meaningless in comparison to her other attributes. He wraps all 10 fingers in her silky hair and drags her down for a tear-stained kiss. And breathes into her mouth, "Natalia Alianovna Romanova, you are too damned good for a no-good lunk like me."

The noise she lets out is halfway between a sob and a laugh and as she crumbles forward onto his chest and he can't tell if happy or sad is the predominant emotion guiding her actions. Her nose and hair tickles his skin and she ghosts them over his torso. "You're beautiful, you're brilliant," she pauses to kiss her way slowly up his rib cage, "you're so unbelievably strong, you're compassionate, you're definitely too damn caring for your own good-Steve will attest to that-you're-"

"Nat,-" She ignores him, and with each gentle kiss she plants on his chest his will to protest the turn-around grows weaker and weaker.

"You're powerful, you're daring, you're surprising and unexpected," her lips trail a path of wet heat down his navel, and just like that he's hard and desperate for her again. His dick was most definitely on her side. "You're funny as hell, pretty much the American definition of loyal-I'll show you the reference books if you don't believe me, fierce," she pauses and dips her head to slowly lick up his now rigid shaft, her gentle hand on his hip keeping him pinned as firmly to the floor as a 10 tonne weight, "indescribably sexy" is followed by a wink, "and far too much of a gentleman to contradict the woman about to blow you senseless." And with that she descends on him with a skill and enthusiasm that renders him mute for a good few minutes before the feel of her throat muscles constricting around him pushes him over the edge and deep into her mouth once again, and even then all that manages to escape him is her name writ large on his lips.

After a few moments reprieve she kneads her head cat-like into his stomach. "Now that was music to my ears."

His eyes are struggling to stay open, but he needs to know she's all right. "Do you want?"

"Nu-uh, all good here. But when I wake up I'm going to need some serious stretching, a couple of Advil, and most likely a massage. Sadly in that exact order as I have to take Wanda to the range at 10. Meant to be doing it now, but, y'know, priorities."

The still flashing but now blissfully silent alarm clock shows 8:45 AM on its red LED lit display. "It's almost 9 now" he informs her.

"Be a champ and wake me up in 60." With a jaw-cracking yawn that sends a totally understandable-considering what she's just been using that mouth for- shudder straight down his spine, she nods off on top of him in just a few brief moments.

He stays as still as his sniper training and Hydra programming enable him to be, which is virtually motionless. As he watches her, totally relaxed in sleep he finally realises just what he's done to himself. He's gone. He'll fight now, not for his own sake, to regain some life long lost to him, but simply for the chance to be with her. He loves Steve, he does, but it's a sepia-tinted, nostalgic love when compared to the visceral, surround sound onslaught of emotion that Natasha's triggered in him. She's a punch to the guts in the best possible way. He can feel her in every inch of him from his head to his feet, and her very presence seemingly obliterates the hard, transparent and brittle protective shell he's fought to build up around himself. She's terrifying and yet oh so worth it.

He watches the red-lit minutes tick away in a state of almost mindless, half-dozing contentment. And when 9:45 finally appears on the display he gently slides out from under her, excavates his soft cotton pants from the wreckage of her room and heads towards the door. He's stopped in his tracks by the feeling of his wadded-up t-shirt hitting his lower back. He hadn't even heard her breathing change. Sneaky girl. And her eyes aren't even open. Is it good or bad that he knows for a fact that her pinpoint aim making him hot under his non-existent collar is very much a Bucky Barnes and not a Winter Soldier thing?

Nat lazily opens one of her leaf-green eyes and gives him a top-to-toe appraisal that would entice him back to join her on floor (how did they keep missing the bed?) if he wasn't already totally tapped out. The Black Widow could outdo even the effects of a supersoldier serum it would seem. She's undeniably the winner. She may have cheated (he's never had a partner willing to return the favour before), but that's all part of the game.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Black coffee one sugar, water and a couple of Advil right?" he checks.

She gives him a long look, "Okay I'm definitely keeping you. But you should put that on" she gestures towards the shirt with just her eyes, "as much as I'm enjoying the view, if anyone else sees you in the next few hours I'm probably going to be accused of Bucky battering" she scrunches up her delicate features "or desecration of a national monument at the very least."

He looks down at the scratches, bite marks and hickies marring his scarred body and feels nothing more than a vague sadness that they'll be completely gone from his skin in just a few short hours. Screw anyone else's discomfort. He wishes he could keep her marks on him for longer than his accelerated healing would ever allow.

He's caught the shirt in his hand. Of course he has. And is still staring down at it 20 seconds after she's made her case. Or so he thinks. "Steve's out there and I've already given him a hard time this morning so..."

He pulls the shirt over his head. If he's going to wind up Steve it's going to entail more planning and preparation than simply wandering into the kitchen topless - that's weak by any standard. Nat hums her approval, though her next words and the accompanying wink make it seem half-hearted at best, "Of course covering up that torso is almost a crime against humanity in and of itself."

Bucky coughs to cover up the swell of embarrassment mixed with pride that her words inspire. Right, he was leaving, things to get, and god does he need that cup of coffee, even if it no longer has the effect on him it once had.

He hurries out the door and into the corridor, almost colliding with Clint coming in the other direction. Smooth Barnes, real smooth.

Clint nimbly steps to the side with a wink and a "Sarge" as he heads off to wherever he's going.

Bucky's stopped moving again. It's only Steve. But then again it's, y'know, Steve. He's not sure he's ready for this. But a pretty lady is waiting for her coffee, so here goes nothing.

He enters the kitchen to find it blissfully empty, and wastes no time in getting the coffee maker going and a pair of ceramic mugs (all Iron Man merch of course) from the cupboard above. He grabs the milk out of the fridge for himself and a water for Nat. He's been trying his coffee a number of different ways, and has discovered he can take it pretty much any which way it comes, but he's in the mood for white and hot this morning.

He digs out the painkillers from the first aid box under the sink while the jug slowly fills. As he straightens up he hears footsteps approaching, ones that are becoming more familiar by the day, and as he returns to the pot to watch the soothing plink of the last few drops of dark, aromatic liquid percolate into the pot, he's aware that Steve's lingering on the kitchen threshold, heart rate and breathing slightly elevated. He's probably just back from a run.

He picks up the water bottle he got out of Nat and half turns and without looking throws it straight at Steve, "You probably need this".

He glances over quickly and sees Steve clad in his running clothes, bottle in hand (of course) shooting him a look that says 'show off' in everything but the words.

They're not entirely comfortable with each other yet, but he thinks they might be getting close.

Steve sits down at the breakfast bar and twists open the bottle, taking a long drink. "Any of that coffee going spare?"

He shoots Steve a look, "Sure". Not that he expected Steve to launch right into it but, well actually no, that's exactly what he expected.

It takes him a second to recall how Steve takes his coffee but as he's fetching a third mug at the same time he's scouring his still hazy memories, there's no way for Steve to notice.

He pours out three cups and places one in front of Steve en route to return the milk carton to the fridge and take out a replacement water for Nat.

As he passes back, heading towards the cups next to the coffee machine, he sees Steve's mouth open and close soundlessly.

He gathers them up and reaches for the bottle of Advil with his free hand.

That's apparently all it takes to loosen Captain America's tongue. "Are you okay Buck?"

He looks up to find a furrowed forehead and 'concerned face #4', as he's christened the expression, being employed against him. Oh, hell. He'd been so close.

Steve nods towards the bottle of medication in his hand, "I have something stronger in my room if you need it."

Bucky shakes the bottle at him, he likes the sound. "No, these are for Natasha, she thinks she's pulled something."

Steve chokes on his just-sipped coffee.

He let's out an overly dramatic sigh. "Get your mind out of the gutter Rogers. It was from her mission."

Steve clears his throat, "Of course".

Bucky waits just a beat. "Though she might need a new room. We wrecked her current one."

This time the water Steve has swallowed to sooth his probably scorched mouth makes an inelegant escape through his nose.

Steve dries himself off with his sleeve. "Thanks for that Buck."

Bucky's already on his way out of the kitchen as Steve throws an "We need to talk about you and Nat" at his back.

"We just were, I was being serious", he calls back over his shoulder, "maintenance can do wall repairs right?"

He can almost hear Steve's eyes rolling from here. Maybe he'll believe him when the work order hits his desk. What would he even say to Steve anyway? That he's possibly falling in love for the first time ever with the first woman (that he can remember anyway) who's touched him since 1944. He's already so looking forward to sharing that little revelation with his team of easily-excitable court-mandated psychiatrists.

Plus it's not even like he knows what's really going on with the two of them yet, if Steve thinks much talking has been happening he really doesn't know how these things work, still.

He's clearly failed Steve as both a best friend and wingman. He'll need to add that to his list of things to make amends for. He just needs to figure out how to lure Carter Junior out to the base. Maybe Nat will help?

He's made it back to her door and taps gently, he'll leave breaking in until after at least their second date.

It slides open to reveal a (disappointingly) fully-dressed Natasha, who leans forward to briefly kiss him on the lips while artfully manoeuvring her mug of coffee out of his grip, and takes a blissful swallow before letting out a groan. Even in basic black sweats she's a vision. "Thanks I needed that."

He assumes she means the coffee, he was only gone five minutes tops, but the look she's giving him casts that assumption into doubt. Bashful has never been part of his make up, but he's also never felt this way about anyone before either. He's suddenly hyper-aware that he's standing there still wearing his rumpled bed clothes, white shirt marked with her footprint, and god knows what his hair must look like, but the way she's watching him makes him think that she's considering pulling him back to what remains of her bed and telling Wanda to find something else to do today.

He takes a mouthful of his own coffee to break the tension, and give himself a moment to stamp down on what was most certainly not a rising blush thank you very much.

She seems to take pity on him and breaks the intense gaze she's had fixed on him since he entered the room. "So how badly did you manage to mentally scar Steve?"

He holds out the pill bottle and water to her, which she takes from him with a small smile of gratitude after placing her cup down on the now righted side table. She's impressively managed to already square up or clear away most of the evidence of their previous activities.

"What makes you think anything of the sort happened?"

She shoots him an amused glance while she shakes two tablets out of the bottle, tosses them in to her mouth and proceeds to drain the bottle of water in one go. Then effortlessly throws it into her waste basket across the room. Holy cow that's hot.

"You look far too self-satisfied."

He reaches out to gently take hold of her hips and draw her towards him. She lets him. And for a brief moment it's like the past 70 years fall away along with his crushing guilt. And as he rests his forehead gently against hers, he's properly Bucky Barnes again. "I think I might have another good reason for that, unless the lady disagrees?"

Natasha smiles up at him. "No complaints here."

Then she kisses him. On the nose - _Jesus_. Before pulling away out of arm's reach and taking another swig of coffee. "But that was definitely an 'I've just finished messing with my best friend' smile you came in with. I thought we agreed to go easy on him."

Bucky snorts. He supposes he better get used to not getting anything past her. She's too good. "You might've. I have 70 missed years to make up for. And he was mine first, I should get eternal 'messing with' dibs or something."

He hears her mutter something resembling 'children' into her mostly empty mug a moment before a flash of pain, followed by a weird stillness passes over her face. Something happened just then, and despite their past few hours together he doesn't think it's something he has the right to enquire about. Not yet. But maybe he can ask Clint to check in with her. She's already shaken it off whatever it was, and is leaning back against the wall by the door. "Well he's gotten better at giving back as good as he gets these past few years so don't say I didn't warn you". He steps into her space to impede what is, to his eyes anyway, clearly a strategic withdrawal taking place in front of him. If she hadn't pushed her way past his barriers last night they wouldn't be here right now, clearly it's now his turn to do the same.

"Nah, Steve Rogers was always a punk. I may not remember everything but I remember that. People are just too blinded by all the patriotic, heroic razzmatazz to see it."

Natasha shrugs, "If you say so. I still think he's gotten sneakier, although that could be my bad influence".

She places her now empty cup on the table beside her and he uses the opportunity to gently intercept her hand and pull her into his embrace. "Well clearly I better sign up for some of that so I stand a chance of keeping up." He simply holds her against him, chin resting on her head until he feels her relax.

A slightly muffled "Sap" is his reply.

"And proud of it."

He loosens his hold but she seems content to stay put for the moment. "Anyway I promise I wasn't too hard on him. I figured I'd leave mentally scaring Steve to Sam this time round."

She tilts her head up to look at him and the amusement is back in her eyes. "So you know about that huh?"

"People seem to forget I have enhanced hearing and can move silently, plus Sam mutters to himself when he thinks he's alone. And I can Google. Half the internet seems to agree with him for some reason."

"If you value your sanity, stay off Tumblr."

He cringes, "Little late for that warning".

She chuckles into his chest, it's a great feeling. "Need me to kiss it better?"

"I'm not enough of a fool to ever turn down that good of an offer."

She pushes up on to her toes and plants a gentle closed-mouth kiss on his lips. "Better?"

He nods at her as she settles back down onto the ground, "Much, thank you".

Nat leans back into his embrace. "You don't mind?"

"Hell no. I know Steve loves me, but he doesn't 'wanna have my babies' love me. I don't get the whole 'all friendships getting sexualised' thing going on, but it's a brave new world, and I'm definitely not going to knock the greater acceptance, it's one of the best things about waking up in the future."

Natasha pointedly clears her throat.

"You're on the list."

She leans back and raises an eyebrow at him. "Top I'd hope if you want me back on top of you any time soon."

He laughs out loud at that one. "Top 2 definitely, Stark's coffee machine is going to be hard to displace from its position in my affections, and if I can get footage of Sam and Steve's conversation when it happens, that's going to shoot right up there." 1940s him would be alternating between shouting her status as his number one to the skies and whispering sweet nothings in her ear right now. He's pretty sure 1940s him would have struck out badly with the Black Widow.

She laughs. "I'll have to give you that one. What do you think will happen?"

"Depends how much Steve suspects what Sam's about to ask him. He has augmented hearing too you know. I think it's 50/50 he blushes head-to-toe in mortification, which is always a sight to see, or Sam gets epically trolled."

She hums her agreement into his shirt. "My money's on the second outcome. I might have to make that literal and place a wager with Clint. Good to see you're keeping up with the vernacular."

"I've always been a pretty quick study."

"I'll say." Nat runs her fingers lightly across his back, dipping them under the hem of his t-shirt and circling her thumb to apply pressure to a knotted muscle in his lower back he hadn't even been aware of until that precise moment. He bites his lip to force back the moan that attempts to escape him at the feeling of the tension being released. And then she steps away, enacting her revenge for not getting top billing despite the fact that both he and she know that's not really what she wanted in the first place. She's a cruel woman and he's unfathomably lucky that she wants him.

"You should go find Clint."

Huh, what? "Huh, what?"

If you're going to be avoiding Rogers for most of the day, you might as well go spend time with him. I'm sure he's dying to tell you all about Nate's latest babblings. And I really think talking to you helps him work through his shit too."

Bucky was pretty sure that Clint Barton was leagues ahead of him in the 'well adjusted' stakes, but at the very least it was a good cover for talking to him about Nat's hang-ups. He'd maybe been a little too obvious previously, but he's an assassin not a spy. 'Your kids', 'Nat and children'? He could make it work.

He can hear Wanda's tentative footfalls approaching and knows he's running out of time. "So you said 'this time tomorrow'...how about a little earlier?"

There's a tentative knock at the door. Nat stays put. "What were you thinking?"

"Dinner?" he says hopefully. "I'd take you out but I'm not allowed to leave the compound, so..." he peters off with a slightly embarrassed shrug as the ludicrousness of him trying to romance this woman in his current situation hits him in the face.

She steps into him and holds his gaze for a long moment. "One second Wanda!" she yells through the door at her waiting protégé without shifting any of her focus from him. "Can you cook?"

He pastes his best approximation to the old half-smile that used to get James Buchanan Barnes his way with the fairer half of Brooklyn's population more often than not. "Guess we'll find out won't we. 8pm?"

Natasha reaches up to stroke the side of his face with her hand. "I'll look forward to it Sergeant Barnes." And a highly charged beat later, "Sharon". Of all the responses he's imagined in just the last few seconds, this hadn't been one of them. His confusion's clearly evident on his face.

She smirks. "We should call Sharon in for a consult on your imprisonment and deployment effectively being a result of SHIELD and Government negligence. After all Zola did what he did on their watch and on their dollar no less. No one knows more SHIELD history than Sharon Carter. And she'll distract Steve, double win."

Yes this could definitely be love.

She slaps the door release revealing a nervous, and again slightly embarrassed looking Wanda, standing uncomfortably on the threshold. "Just no Russian food. I hate that."

She winks at him just before the door slides shut behind her.

He stands there simply staring for a moment or two before he wanders over to sit on the bed and promptly flops back onto it with a heartfelt groan. Now he's truly gone and done it.

Until this point all his positivity has been feigned. He'd been resigned. All his show of belief that beyond the 'unique' trial currently being planned for him, there was anything lying in his future better than life-long incarceration with occasional visits from Steve (when the Avenger allowed him to fit them in) has been, he hopes, a well-sold sham. It's what he deserves. No amount of heart-felt mitigations from Steve, or well-meaning platitudes from his therapists, or even the numerous and humorously ill-tempered variations on 'They made you do it, stop hogging all the drama man' that Sam has throw his way have made any real impact. But Natasha, damn her, has actually given him hope. Because maybe, one-day, he can be like her. Be worthy of her. Be strong enough to swallow down this gut-churning guilt, and start working on making amends instead of just drowning in regrets for things even he is rational enough to know he had no real control over. She's inspiring, and captivating, and she makes him feel human, and whole, and Bucky again.

And he's pretty sure he can make spaghetti. Everyone likes spaghetti right?


End file.
